


the frost covers all

by ihavetoomuchfreetime



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas themed because why the fuck not, Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavetoomuchfreetime/pseuds/ihavetoomuchfreetime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“What about ‘pookie’? ‘Sweetipie’? ‘Sugarpie honeybun’?” Harry suggests, with a grin. “They’re couple-y, right?.”</em><br/> <em>“You might as well call me ‘clogged arteries’ or ‘diabetes’,” Louis says, deadpan.</em></p><p> <br/>au; harry and louis are pretend boyfriends with pretend feelings, but then it's not pretend anymore. feelings ensue. </p><p>or a friends-to-lovers/fake relationship when harry needs a boyfriend for a family thing, and louis obliges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the frost covers all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hattalove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hattalove/gifts).



> oh. my ass. this was so long to do. i really enjoyed writing it, though! i love fluff, especially h/l, and everybody loves a good fake boyfriends fic!  
> i really hope this filled the prompt and you like it! enjoy!
> 
> (also, beta'd by my sister. she probably missed a LOT so, like, excuse the mistakes. xx)

 

 

 

 

**-**

**the frost covers all**

 

 

**one – 21 st**

Louis is awoken by a heavy knock on the front door.

He sits up in bed, blinking himself awake. His eyes blearily open, and when he discovers that he’s shrouded in inky darkness, he rolls over in bed, burying his head in the pillow and wills himself to fall back asleep again. It’s probably the postman – the bastard always did like practically kicking the sodding door down and smiling when Louis opened the door with bags hanging under his eyes, his pyjama shorts crumpled and falling off him and his scowl murderous. If it  _is_  the postman, the bastard can freeze to death, for all Louis cares.

Serves him right for waking him up countless times at the godforsaken hours of the morning just to deliver his  _taxes_. Wanker.

But, no. The knock comes again. And it’s louder, heavier, and a fuck load of a lot louder. There’s three knocks in rapid succession, but after Louis ignores it again, the knock returns, but now the knocker doesn’t seem to be stopping, so  _sod it all_ , Louis hauls himself out of bed (with a sad and reluctant whine – his bed is  _so_ warm) and drags himself out of his bedroom and down the hallway towards the door. The knocking is instant and urgent now, and Louis has a fist raised to deck whoever woke him from his ten minute slumber.

He swings the door open, and instead of being greeted by a portly man from Royal Mail and a smirk, he’s greeted by panicked, emerald orbs, a halo of wild curls and the most  _obscene_  boots he’s ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes upon.

“Harry,” Louis slurs, rubbing his eyes. “What the  _fuck_  do you want?”

“I’m not going to comment on your foul language because it’s early and I need a  _huge_  favour,” he says, stepping inside, and Louis just lets him, passive aggressively sending thoughts towards Harry.

“Do you even know what time it is?” Louis demands, slamming the door shut, and Harry now has the decency to look sheepish.

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his glitter boots. “Sorry.”

“It’s,” Louis flicks a glance at the clock on the wall the hangs above his door, “ _five in the_ _fucking morning_?!”

Harry frowns. “Language,” he scolds, “and yes. I know. I’m sorry.” A pause. “But it is  _really_ urgent.”

Louis sighs and throws himself at the couch, burying his face in the cushions. “Oh, my  _god_.”

“No, really,” Harry rushes, panicked, kneeling on the floor next to Louis. “Please, Lou. I need your help.”

Louis turns to look at Harry. His eyes are still wide and sad, and his bottom lip is jutted out and oh  _God_ , curse Harry and his fucking  _adorable_  face. Bastard.

Louis sighs. “I’m not hiding a body.”

Harry gasps, offeneded. “As if! Louis!”

“I’m  _joking_ ,” he grins, despite himself. “What do you need?”

Harry bites his lip. “It’s a bit of a tall order. But –“ he pauses. “I just  _really_ need you to do this for me.”

Louis groans. This task sounds like it requires effort.  _Fuck_. “You still haven’t told me what it is,” Louis singsongs into the furniture.

“ _IneedyoutopretendtobemyboyfriendforthisfamilytripmymumissoadamantongoingonandsheinstststhatIcomeandthatIhaveaboyfriendso_ please _couldyoudothisforme_?” Harry rushes in a humungous breath and then squeezes his eyes shut and sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

Louis blinks, because all he managed to grasp was  _boyfriend_  and  _mum_  and  _please_. He pushes himself up so that he’s eye level with Harry. He blinks again. “I’m going to need you to slow down,” he begins, “because I haven’t had a Yorkshire, yet, and I can’t process information when you’re spitting it at me.”

“I can make you a cuppa,” Harry rushes, standing up to prance towards the kitchen, but Louis grabs his sleeve to stop him.

“No,” he says, tiredly, “you’re going to tell me what you said – at a more  _human_  speed, please – and then we can go from there. Okay?”

“Right,” Harry breathes, nodding his head vigorously so that his curls bounce. “Yeah, so.” He perches himself on Louis’ coffee table and takes a deep, steadying breath. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

If Louis  _did_  have his tea, he would imagine he would have spat it out by now.

“You  _what?!”_

Harry winces. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” he repeats, voice lower and a blush rising to his cheeks.

Louis purses his lips and narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the sofa. “Explain.”

“Um, basically, my mum is having some sort of Christmas getaway? Like, we do it every year and the family is going to be there, and we’ve booked rooms in this hotel with a pool and a spa, and a golf course – it’s really quite majestic, actually –“

“Get to the  _point_ , Harry,” Louis prompts, and Harry nods.

“Yes. Right, well. And, like, last Christmas, there was a ball things – it was proper fancy, black tie and  _everything –_ and everyone was paired off with their respective partners and I was just sat on the side of the room, talking to the ginger people that were hanging on the Christmas tree –“

Louis snorts, because  _only Harry._

“- and my mum came over and asked why I wasn’t with anybody, and she kept trying to pair me off with random staff, and she was being really gross and suggestive, so I told her I wasn’t with anyone because I had a boyfriend, with whom I was totally in love, and she got really excited and wide eyed and she kept asking for detail and names and history and –” he looks down at his lap. “I didn’t use your  _name_ , but I basically described you.”

Louis frowns. “You described  _me_?”

Harry bites his lip. “Well. Yeah.”

“And can I enquire as to  _why_ , Harold?”

Harry throws his arms in the air in exasperation. “I dunno? You were on my mind?! The first person that popped into my head?!” Louis smirks, and Harry glowers. “Don’t look so fucking pleased with yourself. Zayn and Liam are paired off, so I couldn’t say either of them, and Niall is straight. Probably. So I couldn’t say him, either.”

“Oh, alright,” he grins. “Go on.”

Harry nods. “So, I described you, and then she got really happy and excited because she’s never seen me with a boyfriend, and she got teary because it sounded  _like her baby boy was in love_ , and she couldn’t wait to meet you and she insisted I brought you next year and – yeah. That’s it, really.”

Louis nods. “Right, right.” He takes all the information in, but then stops. “And this couldn’t have waited until a more suitable time?!”

Harry bites his lip again. “Um, well I  _would_ , but the thing is – we’re supposed to be leaving in about five hours?”

And, if Louis were holding a mug, he would have probably dropped it. “ _Five hours?!”_

Harry blushes. “I forgot! Sorry!”

“You  _didn’t think to tell me until the day_?” he sighs. “Harry, I thought you didn’t believe in procrastination.”

Harry pouts. “ _Oi_ , it wasn’t procrastination – it was more like if I surprise you and beg you, you won’t be able to say no.” He tacks on a grin at the end, and heaven and earth, when did he get to  _scheming?_

“You little bugger.”

“ _Language_.”

“You keep calling it out as if half my vocabulary isn’t words that aren’t suitable for PG-13 films.”

“It’s training,” Harry grins. “My mother will disapprove.”

Louis flips him off. “Butthead.”

Silence settles between the two of them, before Harry breaks it with a question that lingers above their heads.

“So…will you?” Harry asks, looking hopelessly desperate. “Please?”

Louis sighs, dropping his head in his hands as he thinks about it. He wasn’t planning to do much for this break – Niall’s back in Ireland, and Zayn and Liam are probably in some cabin in the Highlands of Scotland having very frequent and loud sex. He wasn’t planning to go home for Christmas because he really didn’t feel like dealing with the rambunctiousness of his sisters and whatever arsehole boyfriend his mother was going to bring home for this Christmas. He was most likely going to spend the entire break in his dressing gown eating Wotsits and watching Game of Thrones, and Harry’s proposal seems a lot more interesting. And so what if they have to act like a couple to appease Harry’s mother? They’re already very touchy-feely as it is, and a couple of kisses to the cheek and embarrassing nicknames wouldn’t be  _that_  excruciating.

Plus, a  _spa_.

Louis rolls his eyes and sighs a very put-upon sigh. “Oh, I suppose,” he grins.

Harry squeals and launches himself on Louis, throwing his arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you,  _thank you_  –“

Louis can’t help that a smile snakes it way across his lips. “Yes, I’m aware, I’m a gem.”

Harry pulls back, still grinning down at Louis. “Brilliant! Now, all we need to do is pack and figure out a story, and –“

“But tea would be lovely first,” Louis reminds him, with a smile.

“Yes, dear,” Harry winks and then bounds off to the kitchen on his ridiculous legs.

Louis smiles after him and hauls himself up. What’s the worst that could happen, anyways?

 

*

“We need to come up with a story,” Harry says, as he folds a pair of Louis’ jeans and places it in the suitcase. “A reliable one. A realistic one.”

“Mm,” Louis hums, dropping onto the bed. “How did we meet?”

Harry’s eyes sparkle as the plot formulates inside his head. “Well,” he begins, “we met in Starbucks.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Really? Do I look like the type to go to Starbucks?”

Harry places his hands on his hips. “What  _is_ the type then?”

“Someone who favours Uggs and green parkas,” he says, dropping a jumper into the suitcase, which Harry immediately snags and folds. “I favour neither.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he sighs. “We met in Costa.”

Louis smiles. “Okay. Go on.”

“And I wanted a festive drink –“

“Oh, yes, you and your beverages,” Louis smiles, and Harry throws a sock at him.

“I wanted a  _festive drink,”_  Harry continues, “but I didn’t have enough change. You were standing behind me, and because you were immediately besotted with me and all my glory –“

Louis snorts.

“-you paid for my drink. And, because I am so cute, I blushed and you thought it was cute.”

“You are so far up yourself,” Louis mutters under his breath, and Harry throws the other sock.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he says, “you bought my drink, and to thank you, I graced you with my company.”

“Lucky me,” Louis deadpans.

“ _Very_  lucky you,” Harry says. “And we chatted and flirted, exchanged numbers –“

“And thus, our courtship begins,” Louis finishes with a grin.

“S’brilliant, innit?” Harry smiles, evidently proud of himself.

“Yes, Harry,” Louis says, dropping five pairs of boxers into the suitcase, “brilliant enough to deceive your mother.”

Harry colours. “It’s not deceiving.”

“What, then?”

“Stretching the truth,” Harry concludes with a nod. “Exaggerating it. Embellishing it.” He shrugs. “Besides. When we met Niall, he thought we were together.”

“Niall thinks  _everyone_  is together,” Louis tells him with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s weird.”

“I think it’s cute,” Harry grins. “Seeing love even though it’s not there. It’s romantic. Poetic.”

“ _Weird_ ,” Louis corrects. “He always got weirdly happy whenever you called me ‘Lou’.”

“That’s another thing we need to figure out,” Harry reminds him. “Nicknames.”

Louis makes a disgusted face. “Oh,  _gross_.”

“What about ‘pookie’? ‘Sweetipie’? ‘Sugarpie honeybun’?” Harry suggests, with a grin. “They’re couple-y.”

“You might as well call me ‘clogged arteries’ or ‘diabetes’,” Louis says, deadpan. “Plus, the last time any of those were used was in 1940’s Alabama.”

Harry puts his hands on hips and sighs a longsuffering sigh. “What do  _you_  suggest, then?”

Louis shrugs. “I dunno. You call me ‘Lou’, or ‘Boo’ when you’re being a little shit. I call you ‘Haz’ or ‘Hazza’. Isn’t that couple-y enough?”

Harry nods, stroking his chin like he’s considering. “That’s…not bad, actually.”

“O, ye of little faith.” Louis looks at the clock, and it reads ten past nine. “We should really get going if we want to be on time for lying to your entire family.”

Harry catches sight of the clock, and his eyes widen. “ _Shit_ , we might be late,” he rushes, closing the suitcase and picking it up. He hauls Louis off the bed. “Let’s  _go_!” And then, he’s out of Louis’ room Louis’ suitcase clasped in his hand.

Louis just rolls his eyes fondly, pulling on his coat and slipping his feet into his winter boots before following Harry out of the flat and closing the door behind them.

*

Louis doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up with a jolt when Harry’s car shudders to a halt.

“Perfect timing,” Harry says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “We’re here.”

“Here?” Louis slurs, peeling his face from the window and blinking, turning towards Harry with a pout.

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “The hotel – you know, when we pretend to be boyfriends because of a certain family do that happens every year…keep up, Louis.”

Louis groans. “ _Ugh_ , no.”

Harry claps his hands together and grins. “Well! It’s too late for that, because I have a very excited mother inside, waiting to meet the love of my life. Get to stepping.”

Louis moans again, opening the car and dragging himself out. “I don’t wanna _socialise_ ,” he spits. “People require energy. A quality, Harold, which I am lacking in right now. Hopelessly.”

“Sorry,” Harry tells him, although he doesn’t sound repentant in the slightest, “but you agreed, and we’re here now, so put on a chipper smile, happy camper!”

Louis glares daggers at him. He wonders how upset Harry’s family would be if Louis smothered him with a pillow.

“I loathe you.”

“You _love_ me,” Harry reminds him. “Fake relationships have to have that as a foundation, Louis.”

“Loathe,” Louis insists.

“Love.”

“ _Loathe_.”

“Lo-ove,” Harry singsongs, beaming and grabbing the cases from the boot of the car. “Now, my love, be a pet and hold your case for me whilst I close the boot.”

“I hope you trap your fingers,” Louis growls, grabbing his suitcase and frowning at Harry with a thunderous expression.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Harry frowns. “Couples don’t wish _pain_ on each other.”

“We’re not a couple,” Louis spits, the tiredness and anger speaking for him. “This is pretend.”

“I’m aware,” Harry says, voice soft and hurt. “You don’t have to spend every waking moment telling me. If you don’t want to do this that much, we can pretend you dumped me and I can drive you home. End of.”

Louis sighs. He’s such an arsehole when he’s tired – well. He’s an arsehole all the time, but in an endearing sort of way. Now, he’s just being a twat. “Sorry,” Louis apologies, “and no, we’re not doing that. I agreed, didn’t I? We’re doing this.”

Harry looks sceptical. “Are you sure? ‘Cause it’s not a bother –“

“We’re doing this,” Louis says, again. “I’m sure.”

A grin creeps it way onto Harry’s face, spreading slowly toward the grin that Louis has grown so fond of over the years of them being friends. “Alright.”

“Alright,” Louis grins back.

“Okay?”

“ _Okay_ , Augustus Waters,” Louis rolls his eyes, and Harry’s beam widens. “Now,” he says, clutching Harry’s free hand with his, “let’s go tell a lie.”

“Yay!” Harry says, and they stride towards the entrance of the hotel, fingers intertwined and smiles adorning both of their faces.

The move quickly, partly because of determination and partly because of biting cold, and they step into the lobby of the hotel, only to be greeted by a woman who is about a head shorter than Harry, thick dark hair falling past her shoulders and a smile that is identical to Harry’s. Their eyes are the same, Louis observes, as are the ways their eyes crinkle when they smile. She’s his mother, he realises belatedly, and psyches himself up to saying something.

“Mum,” Harry grins, letting go of Louis hand briefly so that he can wrap his arms around her. “’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you, Harry,” she says back, kissing his cheek. She holds him at arm’s length, her eyes raking over his body. “Look at you! All grown up! Have you grown an inch or two? You look taller. And skinnier. Have you been eating well?”

“Mum –“

“You’re not on that ‘university diet’, are you? Because if you are, you better believe I’m dropping off casseroles every week.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Harry laughs. “I’m fine.”

She grins. “Give us a twirl, then!”

Harry complies, putting one hand on his him and the other on his head, twirling around ridiculously in a poor imitation of a model, and Louis just grins at him. Idiot.

“You’re so daft,” she teases, and then her eyes flick to Louis. She has a glint in her eyes, Louis can see, and even though it’s not threatening, it sends a cold shiver down his spine. “And who’s this?” she asks, looking at Louis up and down. Louis swallows.

“This,” Harry says, “is my boyfriend. Louis.”

Anne beams. “Louis,” she repeats. “Well then. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“And you,” Louis says back, politely. God. He sounds like such a prat.

“Ooh, ever so polite, this one,” Anne gushes.

“Yes,” Harry says. “Ever so is my sugar pie honeybun.”

Anne guffaws. Louis suppresses a weary sigh.

“I thought we don’t say that out of the flat, Harry,” Louis says through clenched teeth, “remember?”

“Ah, yes, how could I forget?” Harry says innocently, grinning back.

Anne watches the interaction, clearly amused, before she turn to Louis and says, "Give us a hug, then, Louis! You're practically family now."

Louis barely has time to respond before he's pulled tightly against Anne's chest and smothered in her bosom. "Um," he says awkwardly.

Beside him, Harry chuckles. "I think you're making him uncomfortable."

"Whoops!" she says, releasing him. Louis gives her a shaky smile. "Didn't mean to, pet. It's all out of love."

"It's quite alright," Louis assures her, fixing his quiff. Goodness. He wishes he got some sort of warning before he was smushed into Harry's mother boobs. His poor hair. “No harm done.”

“I should certainly hope not,” Harry says with a grin. “I like my boyfriends to be in-tact, thank you very much.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Louis tells him fondly, but Harry just grins still, shuffling closer to Louis, and Anne watches them, very fondly.

“I’m going to take so many pictures,” she tells Harry. “And then I’m going to turn them into personalised phone cases and sell them to the rest of the family. It’ll be wonderful.”

“Oh God,” Harry mutters under his breath, but then says to his mother, “That’s very lovely, but before you do that, I’m just gonna take Louis up to the room. I’m afraid he’s terribly tired.”

Anne pouts, and it’s identical to Harry’s. “Aw, diddums,” she says to Louis. “Poor thing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Louis says, regretfully, “I had quite the interruption early this morning. Ruined my sleeping pattern.”

“How irritating,” Anne frowns.

“Quite,” Louis agrees, solemnly. Harry pinches his side.

“Yes, well, must get him off to sleep,” Harry says, throwing Louis a very tight lipped smile. Louis blinks innocently at him. Harry turns back to his mother. “Do you have our room key?”

“Yes,” she says, handing them the small, golden plastic card. “Room 420.”

“Ta ever so,” Harry grins, kissing her cheek and then grabbing the back. “Come along, poppet!”

Louis holds back an eye roll and follows Harry, waving at Anne and stepping into the elevators.

“Your mum is nice,” Louis tells Harry. “Very huggy.”

“Yeah,” Harry says with a shadow of a smile on his lips. “She is. A lot of the women in my family are, so. I’d get used to that pretty quickly, if I were you.”

Louis makes a face. “Am I going to be suffocated with multiple bosoms?”

Harry barks out a laugh. “Indeed.”

Louis groans as the doors slide open again. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Louis grabs his bag and Harry does the same, stepping outside of the lift and into a very nicely decorated hallway, draped in festive decorations. Louis looks at it in mild wonder. “These people really do not fuck around,” he says.

Harry wanders down the hall until he stops in front of the desired room. “Room 420,” Harry reads with a grin. “No smoking,” he reads again, looking pointedly at Louis.

Louis rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue.

Harry pushes the key in slot, the door clicks and Harry pushes on the wood of the door to open it into a stunningly lavish room; it has a huge, four poster bed, draped in a thick white duvet and a red blanket. Louis regards the room in awe, and he walks in, leaving his bag at the entrance and wandering over to the huge window facing west over the grounds of the hotel. There are lights in the trees that make the frost covered branches sparkle, and ginormous tree at the end of the garden with lights draped over it.

“They _really_ do not fuck around,” Louis breathes again.

“I know right?” Harry says in the same awe-filled sort of way, closing the door with his foot. “It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Louis breathes, his breath fogging up the window. He turns to Harry with a smile. “Your family have wonderful taste.”

“And you thought I didn’t?” Harry quips with a raised brow.

“You chose me to be your fake boyfriend, of course you have taste,” Louis grins, and then he promptly runs towards the bed and flings himself on top of it. Harry watches him, bemused.

“You having fun there, Louis?”

Louis moans, rolling around in the sheet and _melting_ into the covers. Everything is so _soft_. “Oh my god, this is _wonderful_.”

“Is it really?” Harry toes off his boots and sits on the edge of the bed. “Ooh, it is nice.”

“Nice?” Louis parrots. “ _Nice?_ This bed feels like _sex_.”

And Harry – bless his cotton socks – _blushes_.

“I could lie here all day,” Louis says, curling up in the blanket with a contented grin stretched across his thin lips. He’s so glad he agreed to this.

“There appears to a bit of a problem,” Harry informs Louis regretfully, effectively breaking Louis’ bliss. Twat.

“And what could that possibly be?”

“There’s only one bed,” Harry says regretfully.

Ah. Yes. There appears to be only one bed. Of course there’s only one – Harry’s mother wouldn’t have booked a room for a _couple_ with two separate beds.

“Ah,” Louis says. “Well.”

Harry hums, but says nothing, awkwardly picking at the seam of his jeans.

“I don’t – I’m not particularly bothered if we shared a bed,” Louis starts in an awkward, bumbling fashion. He props himself up on his elbows so that he can look at Harry and gage a reaction. “I mean, friends do it all the time. And this bed is big enough so that we don’t even have to be close to each other.”

“A-alright,” Harry agrees shakily. “I’m not adverse to the idea.”

“Great,” Louis says, dropping back onto this bed. “I’m going to lay here forever now, so shove off.”

“Afraid not, sugarpie,” Harry says. “If you’re going to be my boyfriend, you’re going to need to know some things about me first.”

“Like what?” Louis asks incredulously. “I know almost everything about you. I’ve known you for five years. I’ve even seen your dick. There are no secrets between us.”

Harry’s cheeks redden. “As true as you may think that to be, it’s not. So sit up. Time for Harry Edward Styles 101. Now sit up.”

Louis does so begrudgingly, and he’s met with a radiant smile. “What exactly do I need to know about you that only a boyfriend would know?”

Harry bites his lip, crossing his legs. “These things are…embarrassing, in the least. I’d appreciate if none of these things left this room.”

Louis grins. “Absolutely not.”

And of course, Harry pouts. “ _Louis_. You have to promise.”

“Do I really have to?” Louis asks, batting his eyelids.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry insists. “Nobody can know. Not Zayn, not Niall, not Liam, not Dave from down the pub –“

“Who the fuck is Dave?” Louis interrupts incredulously.

“- _nobody_ can know,” Harry continues, undeterred. “Understand?”

Louis groans in acquiescence. “ _Fine_.”

Harry grins. “Great.” He takes a steadying breath. "Alright. Well.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, prompting. “Well?”

“Up until the age of fifteen, I had a gigantic stuffed teddy bear called Banana,” Harry admits. “My mum made me throw it away because she thought that it was possessing me.”

Louis stifles a laugh. “She thought a toy bear was _possessing_ you?”

“I dunno!” Harry says, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I just kept craving bananas. And I have for a long time since, but it only started when I got that bear. It got worse when I was fifteen because I ate so many bananas, the amount of potassium in my body was dangerous and I was hospitalised.”

And Louis immediately loses his shit. Completely. He laughs for so hard and for so long, he thinks that he’s lost half a stone and ruptured a blood vessel. Harry glares at him as Louis wipes the tears from his eyes, but as soon as Louis catches sight of Harry’s expression, he bursts into another bout of laughter.

“It was a very traumatic experience!” Harry defends. “I’m glad you’re amused by my plight.”

“You – were – _hospitalised,”_ Louis gasps with laughter, “because you ate – too many – _bananas_ ,” and then, he bursts into another fit of giggles.

“It’s not funny!” Harry pouts.

Louis wipes his eyes, catches his breath and nods at Harry condescendingly. “Oh, of course, how heartless am I,” he says deadpan, and he can’t be held responsible for the giggle that manages to slip past his lips.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Harry says, “that’s why there’s a running joke in my family concerning me and bananas.” He shrugs. “You ought to know now before they start telling jokes and you laugh along awkwardly.”

Louis grins, gaining his composure back. “Thank you for telling me that,” he beams. “That just made my year.”

“We never mention this again,” Harry says, pointing a warning finger towards Louis with what he probably thinks is a stern expression, although he just looks like a disgruntled kitten. “Ever.”

“Agreed,” Louis bites back a grin. He’s _definitely_ telling Zayn.

“Brilliant,” Harry flashes one of his mega-watt smiles and then flops back onto the bed next to Louis. He sighs as he stares at the ceiling. “This is probably one of the stranger things I’ve ever done.”

“Same,” Louis agrees, “It’s never really been on my bucket list to deceive a family by pretending to be enamoured with one of their relatives.”

“I’m going to hell,” Harry says without emotion. “That’s it. It’s sorted.”

“N’aw, fear not,” Louis grins. “I’ll be there with you.” He yawns suddenly, he tiredness he felt earlier suddenly seeping into his bones. “But I’m probably gonna have a nap first.”

“I was fibbing, you know,” Harry says. “Just to avoid pictures being taken.”

“I know,” Louis yawns again, “but this bed is really comfy, and I didn’t get to sleep properly because of _some people –“_

“Alright, have your nap, grumpy git,” Harry says with a smile. “Sleep as long as you want. I’ll wake you when Mum calls us down for lunch.”

“Mhm,” Louis hums noncommittally, and he lets fatigue envelop him as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

*

And, for the second time that day, Louis is woken up by Harry.

“Wazzah?” he slurs, his eyes barely open. When they focus, he belatedly registers that Harry’s wide, green eyes are inches, and Louis groans in frustration. “Ugh, _you_ again.”

“Well, aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine,” Harry deadpans. “Wakey wakey. We’ve been summoned.”

“For what?” Louis asks blearily, sitting up in the bed. His heart aches at how the bed is no longer fully in contact with him. It was so fucking _soft_.

“Lunch,” Harry says as he struggles to pull a shirt over his head. “We’re already ten minutes late, so I’d hurry if I were you.”

“And you didn’t think to wake me? I don’t wanna make a terrible first impression!” Louis demands, dragging himself from the bed. “I can’t run down like this! I look shit after I’ve had a nap! My aesthetic takes _effort_!”

“Just get _dressed_ , we’re _late_ ,” Harry says, throwing one of Harry’s jumpers at Louis’ face. “Put that on. _Hurry._ ”

Louis looks at it dubiously. It’s big on Harry, so he’s going to _drown_ in it. He’ll look like a child dressing up as their father. “Absolutely not. I’m not wearing this. I’ll look like an infant.”

Harry groans, aggravated. “Boy, if you don’t get –“

“ _Alright_ , Jesus,” Louis mutters, stripping off his shirt and pulling the jumper over his head. “Calm it.”

Harry pulls on his shoes before he runs to the mirror to rake his fingers through his ridiculously long locks. “Are you ready?” He asks Louis, turning to look at him over his shoulder.

“I’m putting on my shoes,” Louis says. “Calm. The fuck. Down. I’m almost ready.”

Harry bounces on the balls of his feet as he watches Louis pull on the other shoe, and as soon as Louis finishes doing so, Harry wraps his hand around Louis bicep and grabs the card key with the other and drags him out the door, pointedly ignoring Louis’ indignant,“ _oi!”_

Louis pulls his arm from Harry’s grip. “You don’t have to _drag_ me.”

“But I really do though,” Harry retorts. “Come _on_ , we’re already fifteen minutes late.”

“I thought you said we were ten minutes late.”

“That was five minutes ago,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, I was pulled from my slumber three-point-two seconds ago, I’m still a bit sleep-weird,” Louis defends poorly, but Harry doesn’t even hear him because he’s bounding down the hallway on his ridiculously long legs that go on for months, and Louis stuck running behind him like some sort of dog on his short stubby legs.

Sometimes, Louis loathes being short.

When Louis catches up to Harry, he’s furiously pressing the call button for the elevator. “Don’t dent the ruddy thing,” Louis tells Harry. “Will you _please_ chill? I doubt they’ll be offended if we’re a little late.”

Harry grunts, and the doors for the elevator slide open and Harry and Louis step in before Harry begins pounding the lobby button. The entire ride down, Harry’s checking his watch and bouncing around, and Louis watches him curiously in his peripheral. He’s _never_ seen Harry this anxious.

“Harry,” Louis says, and Harry turns to look at him, eyes wide with subdued panic. “Breathe. Calm down. It’s _okay_ ,” he says slowly. Hesitantly, he reaches between them and grabs Harry’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Harry’s eyes drop to their hands, but he says nothing, biting his lip. “It’s alright,” Louis says again. “Nothing to worry about.”

Harry gives a shaky nod, but breathes calmly. “Yeah,” he says, “I know – I just – I just want things to go _well_ ,” he says with a sigh. “Just –“

“It’s _okay_ ,” Louis tells him quietly, and Harry smiles softly as he looks up at the older boy through his eyelashes.

The doors slide open and the pair slowly drag their eyes from each other, and they walk out into the lobby, their hands still clasped firmly between them. They move into the restaurant, and Anne is standing at the entrance, staring furiously at her watch, but the looks up and catches sight of them.

“Harry Styles, twenty minutes late,” she says with a frown. “Goodness me.”

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “We were…otherwise engaged.”

Anne looks confused, but then takes sight of how Harry is slightly flushed and how their hands are locked together before she gives him a knowing smile. “Oh, Harry,” she says fondly. “How cheeky.”

Harry goes bright red, his mouth agape. “No – that’s – I didn’t mean that –“

Anne just waves him off. “Never mind that, you can tell me later,” she says, winking at Louis, who just watches her, his expression similar to Harry’s. “Come - food awaits!” And with that, she saunters off towards the table.

Louis watches after her, blinking in bewilderment. “I…Your mother is very – um – open?”

“Yes, well, there’s a lot more of that to come,” Harry warns him, exhaling heavily through his nose. “Come along, then, time to meet your in-laws,” Harry tells him, and before Louis can say anything, he’s already being dragged towards the table.

Harry’s family are dotted around a grand, mahogany table. They greet Louis with wide, dimpled grins, and Louis just waves lamely back and mutters a small, “hello,” before sliding into the seat next to Harry’s. Louis’ sat near the head of the table, next to who he assumes to be Harry’s step father on his right, and Anne sitting opposite him. On Anne’s right, a girl with pastel coloured hair gathered up into a messy bun and an extravagant septum rings smiles at Louis. She bares a shocking resemblance to Harry; the same nose, green, sparkling eyes, the pinkest of lips and a set of dimples, and Louis only can assume that she’s Harry’s sister. Louis knows very little about her, only hearing about her in Harry’s everlasting stories that he’s so fond of telling.

“You must be the infamous mysterious boyfriend,” she says with a quirked eyebrow. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Louis grins nervously whilst pinching Harry’s thigh under the table. “Erm, yeah,” Louis says awkwardly, faltering under the gaze of Harry’s family members. “I’m Louis.”

“Nice to finally have a name and face,” she says with a mischievous grin. “Easier to track down now, for family gatherings and whatnot.”

Oh, God, there’s _more_? “Is that so?” Louis laughs awkwardly. “Well. Um, that’s…nice?”

“You’re practically a Styles, now,” she says, absentmindedly sipping her drink. “Before you know it, there’ll be a marriage and a flat that you two will share, and you’ll be calling my parents Mum and Dad and –“

“Gemma, stop scaring the poor lad,” Anne laughs, winking at him. “He’s probably as nervous as it is, poor sod. Leave him alone.”

“Just trying to welcome him, is all,” she says with faux innocence.

“You’re being mean, Gem,” Harry warns, frowning at his sister. “He’s nervous.”

“Quiet down, Hanana,” she waves him off, and Louis has to stifle a laugh.

“Come on,” Harry’s step father says, “let’s be _accommodating.”_ He turns to Louis with a smile. “Well. You’re Louis, then, from what I gather.”

Louis does his best to plaster on a smile. It probably resembles nothing of the sort. “Um, yes. Sir,” he adds, because Louis is a respectful fake boyfriend.

Harry’s step father guffaws. “None of that,” he grins. “Just Robin will be fine, alright?”

“Alright,” Louis says back, still smiling uncomfortably.

“Do you have good intentions with my son?” Robin asks suddenly, seriously, and Louis’ eyebrows shoot to his hairline. He’s at a total loss for words, and beside him, he can see Harry colour a deep tint of rouge.

“ _Robin_ ,” Harry hisses, blushing bright. “Come _on_.”

Robin laughs louder. “Just a bit of playful banter,” he says, winking at Louis. Louis squirms in his seat. “So!” he says, swilling the red wine in his glass. “Indulge us. Tell us how you met.”

Louis actually puffs out his chest, confident that this time he knows what to say. “Well,” he begins. “I was in Costa –“

“And he was in the line behind me,” Harry injects, “and I was trying to pay for a drink – one of the festive ones, you know – and I didn’t have enough change.”

Anne frowns. “You should do. We give you plenty money each month for uni and things. You’ve not been spending your money on,” she mouths, “porn, have you?”

Gemma snorts, Robin grins, and Harry flushes a lovely shade of pink. “ _No_ ,” he stresses. “I just – I didn’t have change, okay?”

Anne nods, raising her brows and clearly not believing Harry, but she signals for them to continue. “Anyway,” Harry says, still blushing. “I didn’t have change – because I _just didn’t_ – and Louis saw and he offered to pay for my drink.”

“Bit weird,” Gemma says. “A random bloke offering to pay for your drink.”

“It’s courteous,” Harry tells her. “It’s what nice men do.”

“Or stalkers,” she supplies. “Or rapists, or muderers –“

“I am none of those things,” Louis assures her, calmly. “He was cute. So I just – I wanted to make his day, okay?”

“Okay,” Gemma singsongs, sceptical, and Anne nudges her to be quiet.

“ _So_ , I bought his drink for him, and he was so grateful, he asked if we could sit together.”

“Which we did,” Harry says, “and then we talked, and exchanged numbers, and…yeah. It just kinda…happened.”

Harry turns to Louis, smiling softly, a grin barely tugging at his lips, and Louis can’t help but smile back. Anne claps her hands excitedly.

“How _cute_!” she gushes. “How long have you been together?”

“Just over a year now,” Louis lies, smiling at her.

“And we’ve never heard of you before that,” Robin says, looking pointedly at Harry, who just shrugs lamely.

“Sorry,” he says, ducking his chin. “I just never really thought of introducing you.”

“Well, it’s all solved now,” Robin says, looking between Harry and Louis fondly. He raises his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast.” Gemma, Anne and Harry hold their glasses in the air, and Louis does the same hesitantly. “To Louis and Harry – may you two make each other happy for many years to come!”

Anne whoops. “Cheers!”

Gemma mumbles and sips her drink, eyes glued to her phone and Robin and Anne sip their wines, looking at Louis fondly, and Louis smiles back at them in an awkward sort of fashion as something uncomfortable puddles in the bottom of his stomach.

*

Dinner goes off without a hitch, Louis finds. There’s nothing _too_ awkward or harrowing that happens during their meal. He enjoyed pleasant conversation with Harry’s parents about what Harry was like as a child – much to Harry’s embarrassment, as he was red for almost all of the meal – and he did like poking fun at Harry with Gemma, whilst Robin just guffawed and sipped on his rosé.

It was…nice. Pleasant.

And yet, he feels strange about the whole thing. It’s like the same aching, deep feeling of discomfort that settles in his stomach rises up every now and again, resulting in Louis feeling both nauseated and guilty. It’s just –

Should they be lying? They’re a nice enough family, and Louis doesn’t want to see the disappointment on Anne’s face once everything is eventually revealed, and he thinks he would die if he was subject to a stern glare from Robin. It’s just – everything is just –

“Ugh,” Louis groans, shuffling his feet petulantly across the frosty grass. “ _Ugh_.”

Harry frowns at him. “Are you alright, Louis? Indigestion?”

“No,” Louis says petulantly. “I’m not okay. I feel…bad.”

“About?”

“Lying,” Louis whispers, as if it’s a secret, and his stomach flips again. “ _Ugh_.”

Harry winces, wrinkling his nose. “Yeah…yeah, I know how you feel.”

Louis shakes his head, and looks up solemnly at Harry. “No. No you do _not_.”

“Yes, I do, because I am lying to my _parents_ ,” he pouts, his eyebrows knitting together. “Like, my stomach feels bad and then my hands begin to sweat –“

“-and then your head hurts and your mouth goes dry,” Louis finishes, and Harry nods in agreement, before releasing a heavy sigh.

“Guilt,” Louis mutters. “I hate it.”

“As do I, Lou-bear,” Harry sighs again, “but we only have to keep it up for a couple more days, and then we can go back to how our lives are. Guilt not included.”

“Hopefully,” Louis nods, and his lips pursed together as he buries his hands in his coat pockets. There’s a slight breeze; cold and whipping against their exposed flesh. Louis shivers. Why the fuck are they outside? Who suggested this foolishness?

Louis can see Harry biting his lip in his peripheral, as if he’s debating something, and Louis opens his mouth to question it, but before he can say anything, Harry’s large, warm hands engulf Louis’ small ones, wrapping them in warmth that Louis so desperately craves.

Louis looks at Harry, confused, but doesn’t pull his hand away. “What are you doing?” he asks slowly, regarding their clasped hands curiously.

Harry shrugs, but looks ahead, plodding along with the frosted grass crunching under his worn leather boots. “You looked cold,” Harry says. “And my hands are warm. So I’ll warm you up, because I’m a nice boy.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, and refuse to acknowledge the slight blush that dusts his cheeks, the heat rising to his face as his capillaries flood with blood, colouring his cheeks rouge. “Is that so?”

“Also, the parents are looking,” Harry says, gesturing vaguely towards the hotel, where Louis knows Anne and Robin are watching them, clutching their warm beverages and chatting about the pair of them.

“Ah,” Louis says, but he holds Harry’s hand tighter, and burrows further into Harry’s side, loving feeling the warmth that seems to radiate from him.

And if Louis’ heart floods with warmth when Harry gently runs his thumb over Louis’ knuckles, that’s nobody’s business but his own, ta very much.

*

They walk around for about half an hour, wandering the expansive grounds aimlessly and admiring how the dull light of dusk makes the frost on the leaves sparkle. Harry insists on taking pictures, and Louis poses and smiles for all of them as Harry fiddles with his phone, adjusting the settings and fucking about with filters. Louis finds it kind of adorable how Harry waits for the light to hit something in _just_  the right way before Harry carefully angles his phone to snap a picture, and they way Harry’s dimples deepen when he smiles with glee at the photo he’s taken, declaring it totally ‘tumblr worthy’, or whatever the fuck that means.

God, where did this soppy stupid foolishness come from? It’s the cold, Louis thinks. It’s making him mad.

“Let’s go back now please,” Louis requests, biting his lip. “It’s cold and my fingers are numb.”

“But don’t you just _love_ the novelty of numb fingers?”

“No,” Louis snorts. “This isn’t a soup advert, Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes before pocketing his phone. “Alright,” he grins. “Towards the house, where the warmth is, I suppose.”

“’Bout bloody time,” Louis rolls his eyes, and Harry just grins at him before taking his fingers and interlocking them with Louis’ as their hands find each other between their bodies.

The hotel is lovely and heated and so deliciously _warm_ , Louis decides as they step inside, letting the cold drip off their bones. Anne and Robin are sat at the window still, their mugs discarded on the table in front of them, and they greet Louis and Harry with beams.

“You two looked awfully couple-y out there,” Anne remarks with a smile, and oh, _heck_ , there’s the sinking feeling that settles in the pit of Louis’ stomach once more.

Louis smiles awkwardly, unwrapping his scarf from his neck. “Yeah,” he says, “it was just _really_ cold out there.”

“And penguins have to stay together to keep warm,” Harry adds, “so that was what Lou and I were doing.”

Louis snorts as Harry bumps his hip against Louis’. “You’re not a penguin, though, are you Harold?”

“I could be.”

“You’re not, though, or I would’ve noticed.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Louis smiles back at him, challengingly. “Really really, Shrek.”

“How?” Harry asks, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth with a grin.

“I would’ve noticed feathers in the bed, my dear,” Louis says condescendingly, patting Harry softly on the cheek, and beside them, Anne coos.

“You two are so _cute_ ,” she gushes, bringing her hands up to her face. “Aren’t they, Robin.”

“Yes, dear,” Robin agrees easily, only smiling when Anne bats him playfully on the arm.

“Did the pair of you want to get something warm to drink and join us for a while?” Anne suggests, turning back to Harry and Louis as Harry puts his arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him into his side, Louis fitting comfortably under his arm.

“Nah,” Louis declines easily. “We were probably gonna go back to the room and shower or something.”

Robin raises his eyebrows suggestively and Anne reddens, and Louis looks at them in confusion before he understands the implications of what he said. “ _Oh_ , God, not like that – I mean – I –“ he cuts himself off, blushing and burying his face in Harry’s jumper as Harry laughs, before pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ head.

“Goodnight, Mum. Robin,” Harry nods, smiling still before turning and walking towards the lift with Louis still tucked under his arm. They step in together, and when the door closes, Louis lets out a sound of embarrassment that could be described as similar to whale reproductive noises.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Louis cringes, “your parents think we’re going to have steamy shower sex now.”

“And she thought that when we came down to dinner we had just had sex too,” Harry reminds him, and Louis groans again.

“She must think I’m insatiable,” he says, haunted. “Heaven and earth.”

“It could be worse,” Harry laughs as the door opens. “She could’ve suggested tips.”

Louis gapes. “She _does_ that?”

“She has done before,” Harry says, smiling wider. “I know once Gemma was given a lecture on sex positions that would be safest to do on her bed.”

Louis feels sick. “Golly,” he breathes. “Your mother is quite something.”

“I love her to bits,” Harry smiles, fishing the key card out of his pocket of his ridiculously tight jeans before pushing it into the lock with a soft _click_ , allowing the door to open. Louis steps inside and immediately hurls himself at the bed, snuggling down on it with a content sigh.

“I’ll just go and shower,” Harry says, and Louis nods at Harry before he disappears into the bathroom.

Louis’ not entirely sure why he’s so tired, but his eyes flutter shut as he burrows further into the bed. Perhaps it all the pretend sex that he and Harry have been having.

 

Louis wakes up when he hears the bathroom door opening.

He looks up from being buried under the mass of pillows. “I keep falling asleep,” Louis says, pushing himself to sit up. “But this bed is so fucking _comfy_ , I swear down, I could live here for the rest of my life. I bet you the mattress is more than my ren –“

The words on the tip of Louis tongue die when Harry steps out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following and billowing into the room. Harry is – he’s –

 _Fuck_.

He’s shirtless, a towel wrapped around his waist and precariously hanging off of it, his skin glistening with water, droplets rolling down the smooth planes of his alabaster skin that’s littered with tattoos before dripping onto the floor. His curls are damp, stuck to his neck and forehead, dark brown and mussed from towel drying. His tattoos look less juvenile, as Louis always thinks they are, but now they’re black and inky coloured, dark and defined and contrasting beautifully with Harry’s pale skin.

He’s – Harry’s _fit._ Why the fucking sodding hellfire shit has Louis not noticed?!

Louis shakes his head, blinking rapidly as he tries to rationalise his thoughts. He must be horny. He needs to get laid, _desperately_ , he thinks as he tries to come up with words other than _fucking hell._

“Seeing something you like?” Harry flirts, winking at Louis with a grin as he dries his hair.

Louis composes himself, schooling his features back into something resembling nonchalance. “More like something I _don’t_ like – dripping water everywhere. My goodness, I thought you knew better than that.”

Louis smirks at himself. He sends a silent thank you to God for blessing him with quick thinking.

Harry grins. “My _deepest_ apologies,” he says, before walking over to his suitcase, bending down in – is Harry actually _serious_ , heaven and earth – a _seductive_ manner, arse straight in the air.

Louis _needs_ to get laid.

“Put some clothes on, you filthy hobo,” Louis sighs before flopping back into bed.

“Out of you and I, who is the one who has just bathed?” Harry challenges, pulling his shirt over his head and shimmying into loose basketball shorts.

Louis waves his hand. “Shut it, I’m pooped.”

“You smell like poop,” Harry teases, closing the bathroom door and climbing into bed.

“Boy, if you don’t _get_ –“

“Teasing,” Harry says, batting his eyelashes innocently, his dimples on full show. He snuggles into the covers, and Louis can feel the heat of his damp skin pressed against Louis’ cold, bare flesh, and his heart stutters unexpectedly.

He’ll make an appointment to see a cardiologist shortly.

“Today was fun, wasn’t it?” Harry breathes, his hair fanning out onto the pillow. “Walks. Frost. Nature. Family.”

“Lies,” Louis adds. “Lots of it.”

“Guilt, too.” Harry frowns, putting his arm around Louis and pulling Louis into his chest. Louis complies without a fight, because Harry’s warm and he isn’t and that’s _all_. “It’ll be over soon though.”

“Mmkay,” Louis yawns, sleep taking over him and making his eyelids droop.

“You look like a cat when you’re sleepy,” Harry remarks.

“That’s nice, now shut up,” Louis yawns again, his eyelids fluttering shut, and before tiredness can claim him fully, he feels Harry’s cheeks press against his crown.

**two – 22 nd**

 

“I’m going to _what?”_

“The _spa_ , Louis,” Harry sighs. “I said that, like, twice.”

“And I’m going with your mother?” Louis asks.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes. Again, as said before.”

It’s the late morning, the winter sun still low in the sky and the frost outside covering everything in white, making the earth glitter as far as the eye can see. Harry ordered breakfast when Louis woke up from his ten hour sleep – the best sleep of his _life_ , he’d like to add, because the mattress is _truly_ heaven – and Louis was greeted with an abundant array of tea and scones, jam and cream, bacon and eggs and croissants. Half of which were in his mouth, but now are spluttered against a napkin when Harry sprung Louis’ pre-made arrangements on him. Harry, to say the least, was evidently unimpressed.

“But _why_ ,” Louis moans, mopping up what used to be tea and croissant from the white tablecloth. “Not that your mum isn’t lovely, she is, but – how the fuck am I supposed to make flowing, regular conversation with the mother of my fake boyfriend for _hours_ on end?”

“It’s only four hours –“

“Four!” Louis squawks.

“- no need to be so dramatic. And _yes_ ,” Harry insists, “you will, because it’s been booked and she’s looking forward to it.”

Louis frowns. “And what will you be doing?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Sibling bonding. Father-son bonding. Go on walk. Take selfies. What else?”

Louis pouts, crossing his arms. “I want to that.”

“Sucks,” Harry says, sipping his tea, “because you have a spa day with my mother. Buck up!”

Louis throws a croissant at him.

 

*

“Louis!” Anne greets, immediately gathering him into her arms. “I can’t wait for this! God knows how long it’s been since I’ve been pampered, eh?”

Louis smiles back. “Yeah, can’t say I’ve ever been…pampered. So.” He shrugs a bit pathetically.

“Oh, it’s magical,” she grins, her smile so similar to Harry’s. “People rub your feet. It’s _great_. You’ll love it!” She gently pushes him towards the men’s changing rooms. “Go and get dressed, then, and I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

Louis smiles at her as she disappears into the changing rooms, before pushing open the door. He strips quickly, pulling on the bleached white bathrobe and slippers, before shoving his clothes into his bag and then into the locker.

He shuffles out of the changing room, being greeted by Anne who’s dressed identical to him, and a lady with glasses and clipboard, who beams at Louis.

“Hiya,” she smiles. “I’m Lauren and I’ll be looking after you two today.”

Louis smiles shyly, shuffling next to Anne and dipping his hands into the pockets.

Lauren looks down at her clipboard. “It says here that you’ve gone for the deluxe treatment – ooh, lucky you,” she winks, and Louis tries not to snort at what he would describe as a flight hostess voice, “-which includes a whole four hours of pampering!”

“Woo!” Anne whoops quietly, clutching Louis’ arm with a grin that stretches across her face.

“Yeah, woo,” Louis echoes, albeit with less than half of Anne’s enthusiasm.

“So, if you’d like to follow me to the massage room, and then there’s a seaweed scrub and salt bath and then there’s a sauna and heated pool, and –“

Louis tunes out as he follows her, her drawl fading to his ears. He swallows. This day is going to be incredibly long, and he sends a silent prayer to God that it isn’t as awkward as he anticipates it to be.

*

Louis is not sure where he is or what the hell that lady is doing with his toes, but they’ve passed the two hour mark, and all in all – it’s been pretty decent thus far. Conversation hasn’t been stilted or awkward; Anne’s a lot like Harry, in the way in which she teases or snorts whenever Louis says something funny. She’s quite young at heart, cracking jokes throughout and making inappropriate comments that makes Louis’ eyes bulge and hold in his laughter. She’s great. Louis would argue that Anne’s better than Harry. But, no – because Louis’ pretty sure Anne doesn’t glisten when she steps out of the shower, and she doesn’t have lean abs like Harry which Louis would like to –

No. _No,_ Louis scolds himself. Holy thoughts. Jesus is listening.

“Ah,” Anne breathes, her eyes slipping shut. “This is the life, eh? Lounging around in towels half naked whilst people scrub at the dead skin on your feet.”

Well, that’s one way to put it. “Yeah,” Louis laughs, “I could get used to it.”

Anne peaks at Louis through the corner of her eye. “Harry does like to treat you so, huh?”

“He does,” Louis grins, not able to help the smile stretching across his face. Sure, Harry has never treated him to something like this, but he remember countless times when Harry would just come over to cook for him, or buy a shit film and snacks and pig out in front of the telly with him. Harry treats him by looking after him when he’s ill or filling Louis’ bath with lavender or buying him random things like potted cacti or a tooth brush that sings.

“He’s such a lovely boy,” Anne muses. “I wonder who raised him. His mother must be a wonderful lady.”

“She is,” Louis winks, “although, she should really spend more time looking after her feet, because quite frankly, her pinky toes are _quite_ the spectacle.”

Anne gasps in mock offence, lightly batting Louis on the arm. “You little _shit_ ,” she smiles. “Cheeky little bugger.”

“Ah, but you love me,” Louis teases with a grin.

“I do,” Anne admits softly. “I love the way you’ve made Harry so much… _happier_. It’s so nice seeing him smile at you.”

Louis blushes. “Yeah, well.”

“He’s so in love with you,” Anne tells him. “It’s obvious to anyone who’s paying attention. Or not, because it’s _that_ blatant.”

Louis swallows. “Oh?”

“Yes, _oh_ ,” Anne teases. “And it’s obvious to see how besotted you are with him.”

“Oh?” Louis says again, his voice squeaking embarrassingly. “How can you…how can you tell?”

“The way you smile whenever his name is mentioned,” Anne begins. “Or the way you snuggle into him when he’s got his arm around you, or the way you look at him and he at you. It’s glaringly obvious.”

If it’s as obvious as she says it is, no wonder why everyone automatically assumes they’re together. “Is that so,” Louis asks, his voice still uncomfortably high.

“Mothers can see these sorts of things,” she winks, before sinking down into the plush chairs and her eyes closing again. “It’s nice to see him so happy. Please – look after him, yeah? Because God knows I can’t, not forever.”

Louis bites his lip. “Anne –“

She holds up a hand wordlessly to shush him. “And with distance and all, I’m not able to see him or look after him as much as I’d like to. So,” she says, dramatically, “that’s your role now. You’re basically a Styles.”

Oh, _God_. “Am I?”

“You are,” Anne nods, reaching over to clasp Louis’ hand in hers, squeezing slightly. “Look after Harry, yeah? For me.”

Louis nods gingerly, squeezing back. “Of course.”

She smiles. “Wonderful. Now, Mr Tomlinson, I saw a champagne bar somewhere and I want to _drown_ myself in it. Shall we?”

*

“Your mother,” Louis begins as he closes the bedroom door behind him, “ships us _so_ hard.”

Harry’s sat on the floor opposite the telly, fiddling with the remote before he turns to frown at Louis. “She what?”

“She really loves the idea of us being together,” Louis clarifies, dropping his bag on the floor and coming to sit down next to Harry with a dramatic huff. “She’s killing me.”

“It couldn’t have gone _that_ badly –“

“It didn’t!” Louis says. “That’s the thing! She was so lovely! We got on like a barn on fire.”

Harry frowns at him, dipping his hand into the bowl of marshmallows in front of him. “I don’t see what’s got you so upset, then –“

“Ugh,” Louis groans, flopping backwards onto the floor with a thud. “She asked me to take care of you. In case she, like, dies.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Well. That’s pretty morbid.”

Louis’ eyes snap open. “Your mother isn’t dying, is she?” Louis enquires.

“She’s not, she’s just very dramatic,” Harry soothes. “But – don’t worry about it. All that matters is that it went well, okay?”

Louis isn’t convinced. “Well –“

“ _Louis_ , stop whinging, worse things could’ve happened, alright?”

Louis considers. His bathrobe could’ve fallen off. That’ not really the impression you want to give your boyfriend’s mother.

 _Fake_ boyfriend, he reminds himself. None of this is real. Everything will go back to normal after Christmas.

(And, Louis’ not sure _why_ , but there’s a strange sinking feeling at the realisation.)

“Alright,” Louis sighs, sitting up and dropping his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I suppose.”

“Great,” Harry smiles, shuffling closer to Louis. “Now,” he says, finally managing to get the telly to work, the _Inception_ movie menu flashing up on the screen. “How about a film, eh? Couples date night.”

“Alrighty,” Louis agrees easily, dragging the duvet off the bed behind him and dragging it around his shoulders. “I demand you to feed me though, I am simply too relaxed to move an inch further.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Harry rolls his eyes, but complies, feeding a pink marshmallow into Louis’ mouth.

“And you’re a frog prince, but you don’t see me making comments,” Louis counters, snuggling further into Harry’s side. Harry wraps his arm around Louis easily, practically pulling Louis into his body, and Louis preens under the warmth of Harry’s skin.

“What’s happening tomorrow, then?” Louis asks absentmindedly as Harry presses play. “More people for me to woo with my everlasting charm and grace?”

“Cheeky,” Harry teases, “and you’re chilling with Robin tomorrow, so. Look forward to that. I think he wants to play golf.”

“Oh, _heavens_ ,” Louis sighs. “If I must.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry rushes, “it was just a suggestion because Robin wanted to see you, but –“

“I’m kidding, babe,” Louis teases, nudging his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Chill, yeah?”

“You’re a noob,” Harry says petulantly.

“Your favourite noob, though,” Louis grins up at Harry, and Harry turns to look at him, his moss green eyes searching Louis’ face as if he’s trying to drink in every single detail, before a slow grin stretches across his lips.

“True,” Harry admits quietly, before he leans down and presses his nose to Louis’, giving him an eskimo kiss. Louis hates the fact that he blushes so easily.

“Let’s watch the film then,” Louis says quietly, his heart fluttering in his chest as his face is close – _so_ close to Harry’s.

“Let’s,” Harry whispers back, before pulling Louis further into his side and turning back to the screen.

Louis can’t help that the blood in his veins ignite as Harry holds him closer.

 

**three – 23 rd**

It’s cold out still, but the grass is its usual and expected green, rather than white frost that Louis’ grown somewhat used to. The sky is clear, the sun is out, and Louis is wearing _the_ ugliest and most uncomfortable clothes that he’s ever had the misfortune of being forced to wear. Harry insisted that light brown chinos and green and white diamond patterned sweater vests were _en vogue_ in the golf world, and stupidly – _stupidly_ – Louis trusted him. Curse Harry and his stupid green pleading eyes, Louis thinks as he adjusts himself in his trousers, wandering over to where Robin stands with a smirk on his face.

“Looking stellar,” Robin grins as Louis approaches him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Absolutely darling.”

“I think it was Harry’s idea of a practical joke,” Louis mutters, because all the other men and women around him are wearing normal sporting clothes; no garish or loud prints that make Louis want to rip off and burn, just normal clothes for normal people who probably weren’t forced by their stupid boyfriend.

 _Fake_ boyfriend. God, he’s got to stop _doing_ that.

“Always a joker, Harry is,” Robin smiles, clapping Louis on the shoulder. “You can get him back though, I don’t doubt.”

“I’m telling everyone about Hanana,” he replies. “Watch. I’ll put him on blast on twitter.”

Robin guffaws, throwing his head back in howling laughter. “That’s a good lad,” he smiles, thrusting an iron at Louis. “Well, then! Let’s get swinging, eh?”

Louis smiles back, awkwardly holding the golf club, in what he hopes is a way that isn’t screaming _I haven’t got a fucking clue what I’m doing,_ but Robin’s already in the golf cart, patting the empty space next to him. Louis sits next to him, and they shoot down the green towards the first hole.

*

Louis isn’t much of a bragger, but he’s actually _the_ shit at golf. Tiger Woods can step aside, thank you very much. They’ve been playing for an hour, the sun lowering in the sky and the wind nipping at them, and Louis’ managed to get six holes in one, much to Robin’s awe.

Louis lines up his club, taking a deep breath before swinging. The club connects perfectly with the ball, soaring through the air before landing not far from the hole. Robin lets out a low whistle.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t put money on this, I’d be skint,” he laughs, and Louis smiles at him.

“I’ve actually never played golf before.”

“You’re havin’ me on, Louis,” Robin snorts, grabbing his club, swinging it absentmindedly as he walks with Louis to the hole.

“I am not, sir,” Louis laughs. “Beginners luck, I suppose.”

“Perhaps,” Robin says back, his lips titled into a lopsided smile. “You should have a go with Harry, he’ll probably challenge you.”

“I’ve seen Harry play,” Louis laughs, reminiscing to the time when he watched Niall and Harry play, Harry not _once_ hitting the ball on the first or second go. “He’s absolute crap.”

“But he tries hard,” Robin winks.

“He does,” Louis agrees easily. “Poor sod.”

“You two alright, then?” Robin asks. “Everything cool with you?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling involuntarily. “It’s perfect.”

“You two being safe?” Robin asks, and Louis almost chokes.

“I – erm – we,” he splutters, and Robin watches him struggle with a stern expression before it cracks with a wide grin.

“I’m takin’ the piss, it’s alright,” he laughs, clapping Louis so hard on the back that Louis stumbles and trips.

“Right,” Louis says, growing red. “Of course.”

“But it’s nice, you two being together,” Robin continues. “He’s never once brought home a boyfriend. So, you must be pretty special, huh?”

Louis grows redder. “Oh, I don’t know about that –“

“Don’t bullshit me, son, I can see through it,” Robin winks. “You make him happy. I appreciate that.”

Distantly, Louis wonders if Anne and Robin practise these things to say to him to make him feel all types of confused and honoured.

“Thanks,” Louis mutters, feeling awfully self-conscious all of a sudden.

“Harry’s had his heart broken many a few times,” Robin goes on to say. “God knows how many times his mother and I had to hold him because some arsehole dumped him.” He pauses. “Harry’s very…generous with his love, and he usually lends it to guys who are careless with it. And so help me, if you are one of those bastards –“

“I’m not,” Louis rushes, “I swear.”

Robin looks at him before nodding curtly. “I get that. Even though Harry isn’t biologically mine, he’s still my boy, alright? I don’t want anything to hurt him, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t,” Louis promises solemnly, meaning it wholeheartedly. “I’d never dare.”

Robin stops, before turning to him and gathering him into an awkward sort of hug. He’s held for a few brief seconds before he’s released, and Robin claps him hard on the shoulder again. “Good lad,” he says with a smile. “Now. One last hole before the sun goes down, yeah?”

*

Louis feels – Louis feels conflicted.

He’s stood in the hallway, standing outside the door to the bedroom, and his head is a fucking mess.

Spending time with Harry’s parents made him think. It’s not like he lied to them – he didn’t, he was completely honest and genuine when asked about how he feels about Harry. He wouldn’t lie because he honestly does truly feel that way about Harry, which he _shouldn’t_ because they’re friends, and friends don’t cuddle together or share a bed together or meet the family and spend time with each respective parent for extended periods of time talking about their feelings or _go on fucking holiday with them_.

Friends don’t do that. Boyfriends do.

Oh _God_ , he’s in this too deep. He’s not in love with Harry. He’s not. He can’t be. He _shouldn’t_ be, because if he is, it’ll ruin _everything_.

Louis drops his head to the wood of the door.

He’s being punished. Jesus is punishing him for lying, and now he has genuine feelings for his friend which he now has to deal with. Louis lets out a heavy sigh.

The door swings open, revealing a very tall and confused Harry, his hair falling loosely around his cheeks and his hand wrapped around a banana. He shouldn’t look good and cute and cuddly but he does, and _damn it all to hell_ , Louis has a crush on his best friend.

“Shit. Shit fucking hellfire shit,” is all Louis says as he pushes his way into the room and flops onto the bed.

Harry closes the door, frowning. “Those were a lot of expletives,” he says with a mouth full of banana. “Are you alright, Louis?”

“Fine,” Louis groans into a pillow. “I’m fucking fine. Wonderful. Majestic, even.”

“No you’re not, because you’re being passive aggressive, and that’s not a ‘fine’ Louis,” Harry says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and causing it to dip as a result. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Of course Louis wants to talk about it, but he _can’t_ , because it’s Harry and he will _not_ admit anything about his crush on Harry _to_ Harry, and the only other person he would call would be Zayn, but he’s probably balls deep in Liam whilst listening to Usher.

“No,” Louis grits out. “I don’t, thank you kindly.”

Louis can practically _hear_ Harry’s frown. “I think you need a cuddle.”

“You know, cuddles don’t solve everything, Harold,” Louis spits, turning over and sighing heavily as he stares at the ceiling.

“They do, actually, and those who believe otherwise are the ones in need of cuddles,” Harry says, crawling up the bed next to Louis, trying to wrap his mile long arms around Louis. “Come on. Time for a visit from the cuddle monster.”

“No, I don’t want a fucking cuddle,” Louis groans, pushing away from Harry and effectively rolling out of the bed and falling to the floor with a loud and painful thud. “Oh, _fucking_ hell,” he says from the floor.

Harry crawls to the end of the bed, looking down sadly at Louis with his ‘sad frog frown’. It’s adorable. Louis loathes it. “Did – did things not go well with Robin?”

“No,” Louis says through gritted teeth. “Things went wonderfully.”

“Again,” Harry says, puzzled, “I don’t see the problem.”

“It’s just – I’m just –” Louis exhales heavily through his nose. He needs to be rational. Rationality is good. Rationality will stop Louis from overreacting and either kissing Harry or getting angry and storming out, effectively ruining their weekend. He looks pleadingly at Harry. “I think I do need a cuddle.”

Harry beams at him. “That’s the spirit! Up you get, champ,” Harry says, pulling Louis off the floor and onto the bed, and Louis barely has time to get under the covers before Harry’s octopus arms engulf him completely, and he’s pulled into Harry’s chest.

“Feeling better?” Harry asks, his breath hot on Louis’ neck.

 “Definitely,” Louis answers truthfully. “I’m just – it’s nothing.”

Harry tsks. “Surely not.”

“Leave it, yeah?” Louis asks tiredly, and Harry nods, wordlessly.

“Your clothes look amazing,” Harry teases after a couple of seconds of silence. “You are really quite attractive.”

“Yeah, and I’ll fuck you up too, you wanker,” Louis teases quietly, letting a giggle escape his lips. “Robin loved them.”

“I’m sure he did,” Harry says back quietly.

Silence settles between them once more, and so does something in Louis’ chest. Louis coughs.

“Haz?”

“Mm.”

“You know – you know that I really care about you, yeah?”

“Right,” Harry drawls, slowly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Louis rushes, “just – yeah. You’re like, one of the coolest people I know.”

Harry scoffs. “Hopefully more than _cool_ ,” he says, and Louis can feel his lips brushing against the back of his neck.

“Kindest, then. Most genuine. Loveliest,” he finishes quietly. “So. Yeah.”

“N’aw,” Harry croons, softly. Quietly. “Louis Tomlinson, you do know how to make a man feel special.”

Louis blushes. “Yeah, well. I thought you should know.”

“And I think you should know that I feel the same about you,” Harry whispers quietly, pressing a kiss to Louis’ neck that makes his heart hammer against his ribcage and the blood in his veins to rush. “You’re very lovely yourself.”

“Why, thank you kindly,” Louis drawls in a southern American accent. “You’re very kind.”

Louis feels Harry smile against his skin. “And you too, sugar pie honey bun,” Harry teases.

 

**four – 24 th**

The next morning, Louis wakes up only to see Harry’s face inches from his. Which is alarming, in the least.

“You’re awake!” Harry shouts, eyes wide to match his grin.

“Inside voice, fucking hell,” Louis mutters, blinking at the brightness of the light outside and the _foul_ stench of morning breath. “D’you wanna back up, then?”

“Oopsies,” Harry blushes still grinning. “Sorry. I’m just very excited.”

Louis sits up, his weight rested on his right elbow as he rubs his eyes with the left. Does Harry have some sort of affinity to waking Louis up in the most horrible ways? “And why is that, may I enquire?”

Harry bites his lip, practically buzzing with excitement and glee, and his expression is something akin to looking at five year olds in the line to meet Santa. _Dork._ “It’s your birthday!” Harry grins, before tacking Louis into a hug, knocking him over again, his body trapped between the bed and a very excited Harry.

“Is it?” Louis thinks, still a bit bleary from sleep. He turns his head – with difficulty, because Harry is very hard to move around under – and turns to see the beside clock which reads in red, digital letters, _12:32, 24 Dec. 2014_. “Huh,” Louis says perplexed. “Wouldja look at that.”

“You’re twenty two!” Harry beams, finally letting up and allowing Louis to breathe.

“ _Please_ , no singing until at least two,” Louis says, dreary, but he can’t help the grin on his face. Harry is just adorable. And cute. And everything else. _Ugh_ , fuck feelings.

Harry pouts, but it quickly dissolves into a grin. “I got you a card,” he beams, whispering it as if it’s a secret. “It’s the best card ever.”

Louis’ cheeks redden. “Oh, you didn’t have to.”

“But I did, though,” Harry says, pulling a card from behind him and thrusting it into Louis’ face. His eyes flicker between Louis’ face and the card, his smile the epitome of gleeful. “Here. Read it. Go on. Do it.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis laughs, taking the card from Harry. He open the envelope that has _HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOUBEAR!!!!!_ written across the front with an array of colours, along with a couple of doodles of bananas and bears and hearts. He pulls the card out, and he immediately bursts out into laughter.

“’ _Happy 2 nd birthday’?_” he reads, giggling. “What the hell?”

“It says 22nd, I wrote a two in front of it, see?” Harry smiles, pointing to where he has, indeed, written a ‘2’ in front of the other ‘2’ in black sharpie.

“And why does it have Thomas the Tank Engine with… oh my _god_ , is that a dick on his forehead?!”

“Yeah,” Harry giggles, nodding wildly, his curls bouncing.

“You’ve ruined my childhood,” Louis says, solemnly, but smiling at the small doodle of a spliff in the corner. He opens the card, which reads:

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOUIS!!!!! YOU’RE 22 OH MY GOD YOU’RE SO OLD LMAO HOW AREN’T YOU DEAD YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE A PENSION!!! :D :D_

_(just kidding pls don’t die )))): )_

_BUT REALLY HAPPY BIRTHDAY UR SO AMAZING AND ILY <3 HAVE A GREAT DAY (obvs u’ll be spending it with me, aren’t you lucky) BC YOU ARE GREAT AND GREAT PEOPLE DESERVE GREAT THINGS_

_Lots and lots and_ loads _of love from_

_Hanana xxxxxxxxx :) 8=======D_

Louis grins, his eyes going over the words two, three, four times, before he looks at up at Harry. “Thank you,” he says, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him into a crushing hug.

“That’s not a thank you,” Harry teases, tapping his cheek flirtatiously with his finger.

What the hell. Louis throws caution to the wind and leans forward to press a smacking kiss on the corner of Harry’s cheek, holding it there for longer than he should, before pulling away with both of their cheeks dusted red.

“Better?” Louis grins, although his heart is rabbiting against his ribcage.

“Much better,” Harry winks. “But wait! There’s more!”

“No!” Louis gaps dramatically. “Do tell!”

“Breakfast,” Harry grins, “has been ordered, and it’s magical. A birthday breakfast. With bacon and shit.”

“Hopefully not shit,” Louis jokes, and Harry rolls his eyes playfully.

“I hope not because I didn’t spend a hundred quid on breakfast for nothing.”

Louis is floored. “One _hundred_ quid?! On breakfast?! How much did you _order_?!”

“A substantial amount,” Harry promises. “But I don’t mind – I like spoiling my boyfriend,” he winks.

Boyfriend. Louis’ stomach erupts into butterflies.

“N’aw, _you_.”

“I know, I’m the best in the world,” Harry grins, flopping down on the bed next to Louis. “You don’t have to tell me, I know.”

Louis regards him, a small smile playing on his lips before he leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss on Harry’s cheek again. “Thank you,” Louis says honestly, his voice quiet. “I mean it.”

“You’re worth it,” Harry says, his voice equally as low, before a small smile stretches across his face. “You’re very welcome.”

Louis grins back, before sitting up again and darting towards the door. “Let’s play _who can spot the room service waiter from down the hall_!” and he’s rushing out the room, Harry’s laugh trailing behind him.

*

Breakfast was probably the best thing Louis has ever had in his entire life. Hands down, undoubtedly _the_ best thing ever. Who knew that bacon and eggs could taste like pure melted gold?

“Satisfied?” Harry asks with a sigh, patting stomach.

Louis nods, grinning. “Incredibly so. I don’t think I’ll be able to move again.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry begins, hauling himself onto his feet, “because I have _quite_ the day planned out.”

Louis looks at him. “Tell me you don’t.”

“Lying is bad, Louis,” Harry grins, reaching down to hold Louis’ tiny hands, yanking him up onto his feet. “Now! Get dressed, because I’m afraid time waits for no man.”

Louis groans. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Harry says solemnly. “You do. Go and change, please, I hardly think it’s acceptable or safe to do any of the activities I have planned whilst wearing ill-fitting pyjamas.”

Louis groans, plodding over to his suitcase and pulling out jeans and a jumper. “You’re the worst boyfriend ever,” Louis teases.

“On the contrary,” Harry says, opening his suitcase and pulling out a shirt that Louis thinks should’ve stayed in the 1970’s, “I think that most respective partners would be jealous of how I treat you. You’re a very lucky man, Louis.”

“Am i?” Louis says, pulling his head through his jumper.

“Indeed,” Harry grins, buttoning up his shirt before shimmying into a pair of ripped, black jeans. “Just wait to see what I’ve got in store for you. It’s amazing.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, pulling up his jeans and slipping on his vans. “There. I’m ready. Now what?”

Harry grins, pulling on his boots before standing up straight, walking towards Louis before taking Louis’ hand in his, interlocking their fingers before pulling Louis into the hallway. “Now,” Harry begins, “we celebrate!”

“I don’t –“ Louis starts, but he’s cut off when Harry whips a scarf from behind him – where the fuck he produced that from, Louis will never know – and tying it over Louis’ eyes, blindfolding him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a birthday surprise,” Harry giggles. “No peeking.”

“It’s not like I can,” Louis muses, taking a hesitant step forward as Harry gently guides him, “considering you fucking blindfolded me.”

“I know,” Harry says again, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. Louis feels Harry’s hand come to rest on his hip, involuntary butterflies erupting in his stomach and electricity shooting down his spine. “C’mon, step into the elevator,” Harry nudges him gently. “That’s it, there we go.”

“You sound as if you’re potty training a toddler.”

“Guiding a blindfolded Louis is almost as arduous a task as potty training a toddler,” Harry muses back, and the doors slide closed with a _ping!_

“I resent that,” Louis smiles, leaning backwards into Harry’s chest for support. “I’m quite pliant, given the right conditions.”

“I don’t believe you,” Harry says, amused.

“Oh?”

“Nope. Not at all. I’d need to see conclusive proof that this is, in fact, true.” Oh God, is Harry flirting back? He _does_ realise that Louis’ talking about sex? He probably does. Not probably, Louis _knows_ he does. He’s convinced, going off Harry’s cheeky tone of voice.

 _Be still, my beating heart_ , he tells himself.

“Right,” Louis says, a lot squeakier than intended. “Well.”

The elevator _pings!_ , and before anything else is said, Harry pushes Louis gently out of the elevator.

“Watch your step,” Harry says, holding Louis’ hip tighter, easing him up a couple of steps. “There we go!”

“Harry, I swear to God, if this is some elaborate version of hide and seek –“

“It’s not,” Harry giggles. “I promise. We’re here now, anyway.”

“Does that mean I can remove my blindfold, then?”

“Nope,” Harry says, and Louis can almost _hear_ his grin, “I’m doing it.” Harry comes behind Louis and Louis can feel warmth radiating off of him, before his blindfold is untied.

They’re standing in a room; private, small, discreet, and unassuming, fairy lights strung on the walls, and in the centre stood a small round table with a tea light and rose in the centre. There’s a bucket filled with ice with two bottles of champagne next to the table, coupled with a waitress who grins at the pair.

“Good afternoon,” she greets kindly.

Louis turns to Harry slowly. “Harry, is this –“

“Happy birthday,” Harry says in a quiet voice, a small smile on his lips, before he walks forward and pulls Louis’ seat out for him. Wordlessly, Louis sits, still in awe of how lovely the room is, and how he’s sat at a table with Harry in what could be described as a _romantic_ setting.

Harry takes the seat opposite and smiles at Louis. “I hope this isn’t too much?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, no, this is… is _wonderful_ , Harry.”

Harry dips his head. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Champagne?” the waitress asks, holding up the bottle.

Harry nods at her, smiling. “Thank you.”

She fills the flutes, before informing them, “I’ll go and get the menus,” before leaving the room.

Louis – Louis doesn’t know quite what to say, which is incredibly rare for him. He’s never really celebrated his birthday, apart from having the lads over, drinking a couple of Stella’s and watching Home Alone, because his birthday is always crushed under the weight of pre-Christmas activities. He’s never, _ever_ had anyone go to the length of getting him a private room with candles and fairy lights and personal waitress. It’s – he’s –

“Harry,” Louis says quietly, still in awe. “This is – literally, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Harry blushes. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“No,” Louis says, his voice dripping with fierce sincerity, “I mean it. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m not quite sure what to say,” Louis admits, blood rushing to his cheeks. He shrugs pathetically.

Harry smiles at him softly, his skin practically glowing in the soft light. He looks so _ethereal_ ; his hair falling delicately past his face, curls prominent and graceful, his smile illuminated by the gentle light of the flickering candle, and his eyes greener and clearer than Louis’ ever seen before. He looks so beautiful, Louis feels his heart stutter in his chest.

Harry raises his champagne flute. “Happy birthday, Boo,” he says quietly. “Here’s to hoping you have a good one.”

Louis smiling, clinking his glass against Harry’s before raising it to his lips and taking a small sip, all the while, his cheeks red and his eyes locked on Harry.

*

Breakfast was fucking _nothing_ compared to dinner. It was _more_ than delicious; wonderfully seasoned chicken, stuffed with creamy mozzarella and wrapped in parma ham, served with a side of smooth, homemade mash, coupled with _the_  best champagne Louis’ ever had the pleasure of drinking, and the most hilarious and wonderful of company.

Conversation was flowing well between the pair of them, Harry making jokes and Louis laughing lamely into the back of his hand and trying not to spit his food out whilst doing so. His stomach literally flipped – in the best way – every time he’d lock eyes with Harry for more than two seconds, and a peaceful quite would settle over them, as if they were in their own bubble with each other as company.

Louis sips the remnants of the champagne in his glass before placing it down on the table, leaning back in the chair with a hand on his stomach, smiling a lazy, contented and satisfied smile at Harry.

“That,” Louis grins, “was delicious.”

Harry smiles. “I agree,” he says. “Would you like to know what’s next on the birthday agenda?”

Louis beams. “Oh, do tell us, the suspense is killing me,” he drawls in the most haughty of tones.

“I think,” Harry says, adopting Louis’ tone of voice, “a nice stroll of the gardens would be most pleasurable, don’t you find?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Exercise? Absolutely not.”

“You can detest it all you want, but you’re coming,” Harry insist, grinning as he slides out his chair and stands up, holding his hand out for Louis to take. He nudges his head towards the door. “C’mon, then.”

Louis looks hesitantly at Harry’s outstretched hand before shrugging and taking it, allowing himself to be pulled up. Harry’s grin stretches as his fingers curl around Louis, and Louis averts his eyes, the tips of his ears reddening.

“And off we go,” Harry smiles, and Louis hides a giggle behind the back of his hand, letting himself fall slightly into Harry’s side.

*

Their hands are clasped between them as they walk in comfortable silence. They tread the frost covered expanse of the grounds, enjoying the winter wind whistling through the air and each other’s company.

Harry’s just so easy to get along with, so easy to just _be_ with. His presence almost calms Louis in away, taking him out of the whirlwind he usually his, and just letting everything be so calm. Harry’s just so great to be with, and Louis doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed being in the intimacy of anyone’s close proximity other than Harry’s.

“This is nice,” Harry breathes, eyes fixed on the horizon as the orange sun bleeds into pink, making the frost shimmer.

“It’s beautiful,” Louis agrees, burrowing into Harry’s warmth. “Thanks for today. It’s was lovely.”

“It’s not over yet,” Harry winks. “I’ve got one more surprise.”

“You _do_ know how to make a boy feel special,” Louis teases, allowing himself to be blindfolded by Harry’s baseball mitts for hands and gently guided.

“I do try,” Harry whispers, and Louis can feel his hot breath his the back of his neck, causing him to shiver and his skin tingle. “Now; onwards we march!”

Louis giggles, “Yessir,” before taking small, tentative steps forward, listening to the steady beat of Harry’s heart, the wind in the leafless trees and the quiet crunch of grass under his feet, before Harry stops him.

“Okay,” Harry begins. “I’m gonna remove my hands now, but keep your eyes closed.”

Louis grins, his tongue pushing against his teeth. “Alright.”

“No peeking?”

“No peeking,” Louis says with a grin.

“Brill,” Harry says. “Okay – sit down, slowly.”

Louis obeys, his arse coming into contact with a cold, wooden bench. “Done and done. Although, it’s a bit cold. Nobody likes cold buns.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Harry laughs. “Okay, open your eyes.”

Louis does so, opening them to reveal that they’re on the top of a small hill, a perfect view of the surrounding town and the glorious sunset. Harry’s lead them to a small, almost private area; tall, evergreen trees that are dusted with white frost surround them, creating a small sanctuary, untouched by the rest of the world. The sun beams through the tree, colouring the surroundings in rich, beautiful hues of reds, oranges, fuchsias, cadmiums and golds. It’s – _breathtaking_.

“Harry,” Louis breathes in awe. “ _Harry_.”

“I found it, the other day when you and my mum were having your little spa day,” Harry tells him, taking the empty space next to him. “It was so small, and untouched with a magnificent view – and I jus thought that you should see it. ‘Cause – well.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, shuffling closer to Harry and allowing his head to fall lazily on his shoulder. “Because what?”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry says in a quiet voice, “and beautiful people deserve to see beautiful things.”

Louis’ heart stutters to a stop. Harry thinks he’s _beautiful_.

(And if Louis couldn’t be any more pathetically crushing on Harry in all his wonderful, glorious stupidity, he has to go and say something as wonderful as _that_ , for crying out loud.)

Louis swallows. “You think I’m beautiful?” He tries to make it teasing, but he’s betrayed by the wobble in his voice.

“Of course I do,” Harry whispers. “You’re so – bright, and radiant. You’re just so lovely to behold and just…to just look and marvel at what you’re like.”

Louis snuggles further into Harry’s warmth, breathing in deeply his scent of pine and oak and cinnamon, before sighing contently. “Harry,” he begins, but the words die on his tongue, because how is he supposed to come up with anything as eloquent as that?

“Harry birthday,” Harry says quietly, turning his head to press a soft his to Louis’ temple.

“Thank you,” Louis says sincerely once more, before they settle into silence once more.

There’s a brief pause, before Harry exclaims, “Oh!”, causing Louis to jump. “I forgot something!”

He digs something out of his pocket – a small box, satin and the deepest shade of purple, and he holds it out presenting it to Louis. “Here,” he says, “I got you a physical present. So. Yeah.”

“Harry,” Louis breathes. “You really don’t – you got me _everything –“_

“Not everything,” Harry grins. “Here,” he says, and he opens the box, presenting Louis with a plain, silver chain with a small ‘H’ pendant on it. Louis can’t breathe. “I know it’s a bit dumb – I mean, it’s only a stupid little thing with my initial on it, of all things –“

“Put it on me,” Louis demands. “Now.”

Harry grins at him, small and discreet, before he takes it out the box, places it around Louis’ head and fastens it. “There we go,” he says. “Happy birthday. Again.”

Louis looks down at it with misty eyes, fiddling with the small ‘H’, watching as it shines under the pale, fading light. “’H’? As in Harry?”

Harry blushes, ducking his head. “Yeah – bit pathetic, I know.”

Louis bites his lips, before he leans forward and kisses Harry softly on the cheek, smiling at Harry’s eyes widen with surprise and his face colours. “No, it’s wonderful,” Louis insists, leaning his head back on Harry’s shoulder. “This is the best present ever. I can’t wait to show it off to Zayn to prove I’m your favourite.”

Harry reddens further. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I do,” Louis says quietly, “you gave it to me. Now,” he breathes, “shut up and watch the sunset with me.”

And Harry does so, pulling Louis further into his side as they watch the sunset fade.

*

They fall into bed together that night, exhausted from their day together. Louis collapses, barely able to keep his eyes open, the fatigue making his eyelids heavily. His head hits the pillow, and he’s practically asleep, but he feels Harry climb into bed next to him and the duvet being pulled up over the pair of them, before Harry curls against his back and hesitantly wraps his arms around him, pulling him into his chest. A kiss is pressed on his crown before sleep claims him fully.

 

 

**five – christmas**

 

Louis’ the one who wakes up first. He blinks himself into consciousness, the room shrouded in darkness, save for that one sliver of light that manages to peak through the curtains. Beside him, Harry snores Louis, his red lips parted slightly, hair spread over the pillow like a fan and the duvet pulled up over his bare shoulders. He looks so peaceful; his face calm and relaxed. His eyelids flutter and he stirs with a groan, before she shifts and a small breath is huffed through his parted lips before he settles again, nuzzling further into Louis’ side with a content hum.

Louis’ never seen Harry like this. But, God help him, he wants to. Over and over and over again.

He turns on his side so that he’s facing Harry, his hand tucked under his pillow and the other hand absentmindedly fiddling with Harry’s curls. He twirls them in his finger, and Harry stirs again, his lips curving down into a frown and his eyebrows pinching together.

“Mm,” he groans, not opening his eyes. “Is it morning?”

“It is,” Louis whispers back, an involuntary smile gracing his face. “Christmas morning.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says, his voice baritone and thick with sleep. “Happy Christmas, Lou.”

“Happy Christmas Harry,” Louis returns the sentiment, his fingers scratching lightly across Harry’s scalp. “I’m afraid I’ve not got any presents with me, though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry says, his eyes blinking open slowly before they fall on Louis’ face, just inches from his. He breaks out into a tired smile “You’re _my_ present.”

Louis snorts, tugging on Harry’s curls gently. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I am,” Harry agrees, “but you love my anyway.”

Louis sighs. “So help me, but I do,” he smiles, before shuffling forward so that his face is in the crook of Harry’s neck. They’re impossibly close now, able to feel the rise and fall of each other’s chest, the heat radiating from each other’s skin and close enough to hear the steady beat of each other’s hearts. If it were anyone else, Louis knows he wouldn’t be getting this close with them –

But it isn’t just _anyone._ It’s _Harry_.

“Do you wanna get up?” Harry croaks, and Louis can feel the vibration of his words against his skin.

“Dunno what time it is,” Louis murmurs, his words muffled by Harry’s skin.

“Clock says its quarter past ten,” Harry reads, “and no doubt the family will be downstairs havin’ breakfast. We could go a have breakfast with them.”

Louis shrugs. “We could. Or…”

“Or what?”

“We could have our own private little breakfast here?” Louis suggests. “It’s our last day. Let’s just – have fun. Together. Alone. Alone together.”

“Oxymorons,” Harry laughs, and Louis rolls his eyes before pushing away from Harry’s neck and looking at him, dead in the eyes.

“C’mon,” Louis bats his eyelashes. “For me. Please?”

Harry’s eyes flick between Louis, his smile growing and his dimples becoming prominent. “For you, then,” he whispers back, his eyes lingering for a beat to long before he pushes himself out of bed, stretching with a groan. Louis pushes himself up onto his elbows, watching as the muscles under Harry’s alabaster skin move as he saunters towards the phone. He bites his lip. He didn’t know backs could be sexy.

Harry catches him staring over his shoulder. He quirks a brow. “See something you fancy?”

Louis blushes and bites his lip. “Oh, hush up,” he laughs before flopping forwards on the bed, lying on his stomach and resting his head on his arms, sneaking glances at Harry out the corner of his eye.

*

They lay sprawled on the floor, their empty and partially empty plates littered around as they pick at the remnants of waffles and strawberries they have left.

Louis licks syrup off his finger. He has no idea about how tomorrow he’ll go back to sub-par breakfast foods, and -

Oh, God. He’s going home tomorrow. No more lazy mornings with Harry, or walks around expansive grounds, snuggling into each other’s warmth. No bedtime cuddles or forehead kisses - the realisation makes his stomach sink.

He’s distracted from his thoughts when Harry nudges a strawberry at his lips. “Here,” Harry says, “for you.”

“Feeding me now, are you?” Louis asks, amused, his eyebrows raised as he opens his mouth and his lips close around the strawberry, before he bites it off and chews it slowly.

“Of course,” Harry grins, biting off the rest of the strawberry and flicking the stem somewhere. “I’m just that lovely.”

Louis would dispute that, but it so very true. He grins, instead. “Indeed, Harry,” he smiles, rolling onto his back and struggling to sit up, leaning against the foot of the bed. “What now, then?”

Harry mimics his position. “Well,” Harry begins, “there’s a big banquet sort of thing that the hotel has for Christmas lunch, and then my parents have, like, booked this other room just for us – it has a wood fire and a record player and records and nice telly and stuff – so, like, after dinner, we could do that?” He raises his brows hesitantly. “I mean. If you wanted. We could just come back to the room and nap if you wanted to, or –“

Louis shuts him up by pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It sounds wonderful, yeah?” Harry’s cheeks redden, and Louis grins. “What time does lunch begin?”

“It starts at twelve,” Harry says, hauling himself, before offering a hand to Louis and pulling him up as well. “Which means –“ Harry turns to glance at the clock, “- it starts in an hour and a half! And no doubt my mother will want to take pictures, so it’s looking more like an hour.”

“Your mum wants to take pictures for half an hour?” Louis asks incredulously.

“I think it’s better if we don’t question what she does at this point,” Harry sighs, wearily, before shoving Louis towards the bathroom. “Now, go! Bathe! Cleanse yourself, you’re filthy.”

Louis flips Harry of and Harry just grins in response before Louis closes the bathroom door, strips himself and steps into the shower.

His eyelids flutter shut as he tips his head and steps under the warm spray that the shower provides, and his mind absentmindedly drifting to Harry.

This entire situation has been so… _weird_. He was literally planning to buy as much rum and coke and weed that he could afford and stay high throughout the Christmas period, watching whatever shitty films were showing on Channel 4 or BBC iPlayer. He didn’t plan on coming to Harry’s family’s more than spectacular winter deluxe holiday, acting as Harry’s boyfriend to appease family members. And, more importantly, he didn’t think he’d fucking _develop feelings_ whilst doing so.

He groans. What the fuck is his life?

He and Harry have always been close – closer with each other than with the rest of their friends, which is saying something, considering that all five of them live out of each other’s arses most of the time. People have always assumed that he and Harry were together, because they’re always touching; hands, or feet or Harry just casually drapes himself over Louis, or Louis just plonks himself down into Harry’s lap. They’re either always giggling about something stupid - and Zayn will always make sideways comments that Louis pointedly ignores - or they’ll just stare at each other and smile in their ways of _secret creepy communication,_ as Niall dubbed it.

They’ve just always been – close. Like, incredibly close. And Louis has no idea why he’s only just been made aware of his more than pathetic attraction to Harry _now,_ after a good four or so years of friendship. It’s as if The Powers That Be have decided to be either really cruel to Louis, or really kind by shoving in him a position where he and Harry would have to be romantically close with each other in the company of family members.

He sighs heavily before shutting off the water and stepping out the shower, and wrapping a towel around his waist. It’s too early in the morning for questions, Louis decides.

His feet slap against the tiled floors as he makes his way out the bathroom, pulling open the door only to see Harry draped across the bed, tapping away at his phone. Harry’s head turns towards Louis, before his eyes widen slightly as they blatantly move up and down his bare body, and Harry’s cheeks redden as he averts his eyes abruptly.

“Oh, um,” Harry begins, keeping his eyes from flicking back to Louis. “You’re – um – finished?”

“Evidently,” Louis smirks, amused at how Harry’s become a bumbling, blushing mess, before he saunters over to his suitcase. “Your turn, then.”

“I – er – right,” Harry stutters, keeping his eyes down and making long strides towards the bathroom before stepping in and slamming the door behind him.

Louis laughs. “Y’alright, Haz?”

“Yeah!” Comes Harry’s squeaky reply. “Just – put on some clothes. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis smiles. “Do I have to look fancy and posh, or can I wear a t-shirt and jeans?”

“Um,” Harry says on the other side of the door, a bit more composed now, “smart, I think. Mum’s taking pictures and all. And she’s probably gonna frame them, so. Yeah. Smart casual posh clothes, please.”

“Roger that,” Louis smiles, before sorting through his clothes to find decent attire.

*

Turns out that Louis doesn’t own anything remotely ‘smart posh casual’, so he settles for black skinny jeans that cling to his thighs and a black, pressed button up shirt and his slightly less decrepit black vans.

He’s just beginning to fix his hair when Harry steps out of the bathroom.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, his eyes immediately falling on Louis. “You look – like – really nice.”

Louis raises and eyebrow. “Just ‘really nice’? Come on, Harry, I know you can do better than that.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

Louis preens. “Thank you kindly,” he beams, “although, the same can’t be said for you.”

“You lie,” Harry says as his cheeks tint rouge and he plods towards his suitcase, pulling out a few items of clothing. “I’m gonna get changed and then we can go, alright?”

“Sounds good to me,” Louis smiles, before flopping on the bed and fiddling on his phone with Candycrush for ten minutes until Harry steps out of the bathroom, dressed to the nine and looking so wonderful that Louis fails to use his basic motor skills.

Harry’s not wearing anything swish; simply a pair of jeans – without holes at the knees, thank goodness – a pair of shined dress shoes and a loose white shirt that hangs carelessly off his wiry frame, a couple of buttons undone so the swallows on his chest are visible. His hair mussed carefully, curls bobbing around his shoulder and a few wisps falling in front of his eyes, framing his face perfectly and making him look even more wonderful than he does on a daily basis.

Louis is crushing. So hard.

“How do I look?” Harry grin, twirling on the spot.

 _Absolutely fucking spectacular, oh my goodness gracious me, you’re wonderful,_ Louis thinks, but instead he shrugs his shoulders teasingly. “Meh.”

Harry gasps in mock offence. “Excuse you, I look delightful.”

Louis grins, pulling himself up off the bed, sauntering towards Harry and patting his face. “Yes, you do, sugarpie honeybun.”

Harry grins in response, pressing a large, wet sloppy kiss to Louis’ cheek before he tangles their fingers together and opens the door. “Shall we?”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, stepping out in the hallway before he holds onto Harry’s arm with his free hand. “We shall.”

*

Anne, Robin and Gemma are waiting for them at the entrance of the dining room in front of an obnoxiously large tree, decorated superfluously. They all look wonderful; Anne dressed in a navy dress that flows and draped in pearls, Robin wearing a tailored suit with a red bow tie and Gemma wearing a white dress with lace and a long, silver chain dangling off of her neck. Anne grins when she sees them approaching and moves towards them with her arms wide open.

“Merry Christmas!” she greets, hugging both Harry and Louis, before she steps back and admires them both. “My, don’t you both look darling!”

“Oh,” Louis blushes slightly, “thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Mum,” Harry smiles, dipping down to kiss her cheek. “You look lovely.”

“When can we eat?” Gemma asks, pouting. “I’m starved.”

“After we take pictures, Gems,” Anne grins, pulling out her phone. “Now. Harry and Louis, stand by the tree – yes, there, perfect – and Haz, put your arm around him.”

Harry does so, his arm coming to hold Louis around his waist and pulling him into his chest, and Louis just stands there, not knowing quite what to do with his hands.

Anne holds the phone ready, but she frowns at Louis’ position. “Oh, Louis, don’t look so awkward, my love – just hug Harry around his middle.”

Louis manoeuvres himself so he does as he’s told. “Like this?”

“Yes!” Anne grins. “Perfect. Now – smiles!”

Louis grins, and Harry does so to. “Cheese!” they say in unison, and Anne’s camera phone flashes.

“Oh, that was lovely!” Anne gushes. “Another!”

Harry just laughs, moving his hand from Louis’ waist and wrapping it around Louis’ shoulders instead. Louis’ pulled very close to Harry, and Harry presses a very wet, sloppy kiss to Louis’ cheek.

Louis wrinkles his nose, laughing. “Ew,” he smiles, just as the camera flashes again.

Anne beams even wider. “Oh, these are just so perfect! More!”

And Louis finds himself posing in random couple-y position with Harry for the next twenty minutes, before Anne declares that she has enough to make calendars for all the family for the next two years.

Gemma groans. “Can we _please_ go and eat now?”

“Just one more,” Anne smiles, “one with all the family.”

Anne hands her phone to a very bored looking employee. “Hope you don’t mind taking a couple of pictures for us? No? Wonderful! Hold on a mo’.”

She rushes over to where Harry and Louis are standing, calling Robin and a reluctant Gemma over to pose. Harry puts his arm around Louis’ waist as they all compose themselves before grinning at the camera.

“Say ‘cheese’,” the employee deadpans.

“Cheese!” they grin, and the camera flashes before the phone is handed back too Anne. She beams.

“Oh, these are just lovely,” she says, flicking through them. “I’ll send them to everyone. Amazing!”

“Food now,” Gemma says, before strutting into the dining room in her stilettos, and they all follow.

“Hope you didn’t mind too much about the posing,” Harry says as he walks in step next to Louis, their hands subconsciously finding each other. “She really loves taking pictures –“

“It’s fine, Harry,” Louis assures him, leaning closer into his side. “Don’t stress.”

Harry ducks his head, blushing. “Brill.”

And, because Louis has no self-control, he presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek.

*

Dinner was _divine;_ roast beef and potatoes, lathered in red wine gravy, parsnips and carrots and sprouts, turkey with sausage and sage stuffing, coupled with the finest wines Louis’ ever tasted. Conversation flowed wonderfully between the five of them, all of them giggling and slightly tipsy off the wine. Louis and Harry kept their fingers interlocked under the table throughout, and Harry would often shoot him quiet, reserved smiles that were only for him, making his heart stutter like moths wings and his stomach erupt in butterflies.

“That was lovely,” Anne smiles over the rim over her wine glass, sipping the last drips. “It’s just lovely, all of us being together, don’t you think?”

“Oh, _Mum_ , please, not a speech,” Gemma grins, and Anne just rolls her eyes.

“You hush up,” she smiles, before placing her glass down on the table and turning to Louis. “It was really lovely, you being here.”

Louis colours. “Well. Um. Thank you for having me.”

“Any time, poppet,” she winks, leaning forward to pat his hand kindly. “Harry’s never brought a boyfriend along, and it’s just so lovely to see how happy you two are together. You come up to see us any time you like, now, alright?”

Louis smiles, his cheeks still a bit red. “Definitely.”

Anne grins, appeased. “Well! I’m positively stuffed. I quite fancy a walk.” She turns to Robin. “What do you think, Mr Twist? Shall we leave the youths?”

Robin laughs, rolling his eyes and standing up. “I think we shall, Mrs Styles-Twist,” he says, offering her a hand. She takes her hand in his, and they both stand up, waving to Harry, Gemma and Louis over their shoulders as they leave.

“Well,” Gemma begins. “I certainly don’t feel like witnessing you two –“ she gestures with her hands – “do whatever kind of fluffy cuteness that you do, so I’m gonna drink the bar dry. Deuces.” And then she leaves also, strutting off on her ridiculous heels towards the bar.

Harry turns to Louis with a grin. “And then there were two.”

Louis smiles in response. “Anything you fancy doing?”

Harry bites his lip. “There is _one_ thing I’d like to do.”

Louis stands up, holding out his hand for Harry. “Lead the way, then.”

Harry grins, grabbing Louis’ hand and locking their fingers together again, before he pulls him out of the dining room. “Onwards!” he giggles, pulling Louis behind him, and Louis cannot be held responsible for the laughter that trails after the pair of them.

*

Harry takes them to a private, quieter corner of the hotel. They arrive at a room with sliding glass doors with mahogany panels that opens into a room with a roaring word fire, a sofa and record player that sits on a table in the far corner. It’s only mid afternoon, but the sun is going down and room is in lowlights, glowing orange from the fire.

“Harry Styles,” Louis breathes, “you truly do take me to the most beautiful places.”

“I do try and impress,” he grins, opening the door for Louis. Louis steps inside as Harry closes the door behind them, before walking over the record player. “Any requests?”

Louis shakes his head with a small grin. “Pick whatever you think is appropriate.”

Louis watches as Harry fiddles with various records, before he picks one, sliding it out of its case and placing it gently onto the record player and adjusting the needle. [_La Vie En Rose_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFzViYkZAz4)gently floats through the speakers.

Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry, amused. “This is what you call appropriate?”

Harry smirks and shrugs carelessly. “I think so.” He holds out a hand to Louis. “Would you care to dance?”

 _Butterflies_. A slow grin spreads its way across Louis’ lips. “I’d love to,” he says in hushed tones and he places his hand in Harry’s.

Harry braces his hands on Louis’ hips, and Louis places his on Harry’s back as his head comes to rest on Harry’s shoulder, and they sway slowly to Edith Piaf, crooning through the speakers.

_Quand il me prend dans ses bras,_

_Il me parle tout bas,_

_Je vois la vie en rose..._

Louis lets himself be rocked gently by Harry, dancing slowly around the room as his eyes flutter shut. “Harry,” he begins, softly, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were attempting romance.”

Harry chuckles quietly. “Hypothetically, if I was attempting romance, would it be working?”

Louis throws caution to the wind. “I think so,” he admits softly, his heart beating against his ribcage.

_Il me dit des mots d'amour,_

_Des mots de tous les jours,_

_Et ça m' fait quelque chose…_

Harry clears his throat. “Um – I think I need to admit something.”

Louis laughs quietly. “What?”

“I think – I think it would be fair to say that I invited you here to be my fake boyfriend, because in the process, I’d woo you slowly and you’d end up liking me,” he rushes in one breath. “Kind of like The Proposal. Except without the proposal. And intentionally.”

Louis’ heart stops momentarily. “Are you serious?”

Harry pulls back and looks at Louis, worriedly, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. “I – erm – yes?” Louis raises his eyebrows, so Harry continues. “Like – I’ve liked for you a really long time now, and I’ve never had the balls to do or say anything. So, when we came here and I knew we had to be couple-y, I kind of wanted to treat you really nicely and boyfriend-y so that you could I could – I dunno, like, be close to you whilst hoping that you’d like it and then we could perhaps maybe be more than friends?”

And, despite himself, Louis bursts out laughing.

Harry’s face falls. “I know, it was stupid, never mind – like, when we go home I’ll just drop you off and I won’t bother you ever again and –“

“No, Harry,” Louis shushes him with a small smile, “I’m laughing because your stupid plan worked.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m not,” Louis says quietly. “I promise, I’m not.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth curve up into a smile. “O-oh.”

Louis pulls him back again, resting his head on his shoulder as they begin to sway slowly to the music. “I didn’t even realise I liked you until this week,” he admits quietly. “Like, when people used to think we were a couple, I’d never understand why, but when I think about it, I remember how close we are when we’re just chilling and how I _like_ being close to you and – yeah. It’s just,” he shrugs, lamely. “I dunno. I _do_ know, however, that I like you. It’s a bit ridiculous, really.”

“Yeah?” Harry breathes.

Louis nods, turning his head to press to the skin of Harry’s neck. “Yeah,” he whispers, and they settle into silence, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the music that drifts gently into the room.

_Il est entré dans mon Coeur,_

_Une part de Bonheur,_

_Dont je connais la cause…_

“Louis?” Harry begins tentatively.

Louis hums. “Yeah, Haz.”

“I think I’d quite like to kiss you,” Harry whispers.

Louis smiles. “You think?”

“I want to,” Harry corrects. “I really want to.”

Louis pulls back and looks into Harry’s moss green eyes that sparkle in the dim light, before his gaze flickers to Harry’s pillowy, red lips, shiny with saliva. “Then kiss me,” he says, leaning close.

Harry leans forward also, before gently, hesitantly pressing his lips to Louis. They’re soft, _so_ soft, and so inviting, Louis thinks, and their mouths move slowly and sensually over each other. Harry’s fingers tighten on Louis’ hips and Louis pulls Harry closer as they deepen their kiss, lips parted and short, hot breaths of air push past their lips as their tongues meet.

Louis pulls back, breathless, and Harry’s panting slightly, before a small grin graces his face, and he places a soft peck on the corner of Louis’ mouth.

"I like you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry replies, before leaning forward and pressing a lasting kiss on Louis’ mouth. “I like you a lot.”

Louis sighs happily, his head coming to rest on Harry’s shoulder again as they continue to sway slowly, basking in Harry’s heated skin and the warmth, feeling content and tingly all over.

“And I you,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to Harry’s neck.

**_fin_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> yay that was fun! i hope you guys liked it! kudos are very appreciated, and i'd love to hear what you thought about it, so leave a comment! xx
> 
> eta, 7/4/15: hello yes it was i who wrote this! im glad i can reveal that now :))))


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